


Her Excellency

by AthenaNike



Category: GreedFall (Video Game)
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Alternate Canon, Awkward Romance, Canon all over the place, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Just Bear With Me, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Probably Going to Be Awkward Too, Slow Romance, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:28:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 46,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25391647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AthenaNike/pseuds/AthenaNike
Summary: A stubborn mercenary. An exasperating noblewoman. A new world, with new possibilities, people, and relationships.In a magical land, far from the restrictions of the Old World, a loyal mentor finds himself questioning if he truly ever knew his mentee.
Relationships: Kurt/De Sardet (GreedFall)
Comments: 64
Kudos: 60





	1. Tumultus

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! I just finished playing Greedfall (I know, late to the party), and thoroughly enjoyed it. I was left wanting more, especially when it came to relationships and interactions with the characters. 
> 
> So, here we are! I plan on adding to this as the spirit moves me, with the chapters loosely connected (unless otherwise noted), and no set destination in mind. I will more than likely gloss over game events, and probably depart from the game completely at some points. It'll be a trip regardless. And hopefully a good one. 
> 
> I sincerely hope you enjoy it! And I'd love to hear from you!  
> __________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The hot noonday sun poured heavily into the audience chamber; the light drapes that had been pulled closed hours ago did little to tamper its intensity. It seemed that they only made the expansive room feel smaller and hotter. Of course, the throngs of people huddled about the room awaiting their turn with the governor did not help either. Despite the heat and pressing closeness, the mood of the room was high, almost celebratory. The air thrummed with the crowd’s incessant low chatter and sharp laughs.

“The governor looks…”

“I heard the merchant in the Copper District…”

“No! Surely you jest?!”

“...a beautiful dress!”

“If it weren’t for Lady de Sardet…”

“...and then she…”

Kurt absently listened to the floating pieces of conversation as he tried to ignore the damned heat. He squashed the need to fidget and forced himself to forget the slow crawl of sweat down his back. Standing in an audience chamber watching the upper class vie for Constantin’s attention and insight over petty squabbles was most assuredly not what Kurt wanted to do. The former master of arms knew that, despite his dislike of the tedium, it was his job. Afterall, it was what Prince d’Orsay had paid him to do: stand watch over his son.

Yet, since their arrival in New Serene, Constantin had waved him off, telling him to accompany his fair cousin on her diplomatic adventures. “Father has entrusted us both to you,” Constantin had reminded. “And I would feel much better knowing my fair cousin was in your capable hands. Besides, with the guard here, I will be perfectly safe!” There had been no deterring the strong-willed governor, and Lady de Sardet had looked somewhat relieved to have the former master of arms at her side. Kurt hated to admit it, but he had found de Sardet’s company infinitely more enjoyable than her cousin’s. She somehow managed to make even the most droll of errands exciting.

But then there was the coup.

Kurt learned of it only moments before it was to begin. He had left de Sardet with Constantin to discuss their recent investigation into the Congregation’s past on the island when a young lieutenant found him. “Captain,” he declared boldly, “it is time!” “For what?” Kurt growled in response. He was tired. All he wanted was an ale at the tavern and a comfortable bed. “For the...you know...coup?” the lieutenant finished in a whisper. Kurt blinked. Surely he had not heard the fumbling sot correctly. “The what now boy?” He seized the collar of the lieutenant’s doublet and pulled him close. Confusion flickered across the boy’s face. “Surely you know of it? Commander Torsten assured us you knew and were willing.” “Willing to what?” Kurt probed, shoving the lieutenant none to gently into the wall. “To help us seize New Serene. To be rid of the d’Orsay brat and his meddlesome cousin…” The lieutenant trailed off as he finally noticed the stormy expression on the captain’s face. He tried to wriggle free, but Kurt would have none of it. He slammed the lieutenant against the wood paneled walls, a warning. The boy stilled. “Tell. Me. Everything.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Kurt muttered as he darted up the stairs two at a time. Whoever thought this many stairs was a good idea clearly had never actually walked them. As he crested the landing, Kurt drew himself up. The situation was dire, but he did not wish to draw attention to himself. “Guards,” he said as casually as he could manage. “You are dismissed. You have business elsewhere to attend to.” The two guards outside the audience chamber exchanged a knowing look. “As you say, Captain.” It took every ounce of his willpower to not sprint into the audience chamber. Instead, Kurt paused, taking a deep breath and clearing his mind, just as he had taught his green blood to do so many years ago. In truth, if the target of the coup had just been Constantin, Kurt might have considered. The boy was inept and too headstrong; he had already almost brought ruin to himself on numerous occasions. Only he and de Sardet had managed to smooth things over and avert disaster. Deposition seemed like a natural price to pay for such ineptitude.

Yet, the uprising did not target just Constantin, but all the governors, ministers, and aides of Teer Fradee. And that included his green blood. De Sardet, Kurt mentally chided himself. The lines between student and teacher, client and employee, had begun to shift since their arrival on the island. While he had agreed to Lady de Sardet’s request of friendship, Kurt found himself growing overly familiar with her, taking liberties he never would have dreamed of in Serene. He watched her in her role of legate, noting the subtlety she used when speaking with the Mother Cardinal, her cutting wit lingering just beneath the surface. The way she consoled Siora after the Battle of the Red Spears and helped her reclaim her mother’s body. The easy repertoire she shared with Vasco. Her soft voice and kindness when she asked him about Reiner. Somewhere along the line, de Sardet had transformed from the self-conscious, shy green blood he had trained into a beautiful, capable, fascinating woman. Or maybe, she had always been that way and he had just been too thick to see it. Regardless of how he felt, de Sardet was a good woman. One who did not deserve the fate that the traitorous Commander Torsten had planned for her.

Kurt pushed into the audience room. It was abandoned except for a few guards, Constantin, and de Sardet. Constantin sat upon his cushioned chair, head to one side, tightly gripping his cousin’s hands. He looked every inch the spoiled, dejected prince. Perhaps he already knew? But no, that was not it. Kurt watched de Sardet, as he had on so many of their adventures. Her gray eyes were open wide, her normally bright and sunkissed skin pale. She had a look of desperation and open fear; it rolled off of her in waves so strongly that Kurt could feel them from the back of the hall. This was not the look of a woman who had learned of a coup. This was something else. Constantin shifted in his chair, pulling de Sardet closer. “Cassandra, I’m…” but the governor’s words were swallowed by the hall. She slipped a hand from Constantin’s and gently cupped his cheek, a steely resolve settling in her eyes. “No,” she said softly, simply. It carried through the hall with a force Constantin’s words had not been able to. Despite the pressing need of the situation, Kurt stalled, unsure of how to address the coup in the face of such intimacy.

But he could wait no longer. He broke into their reverie as only he knew how. “Guards, dismissed!” He issued the command with such authority that the men scrambled from the room. No questions asked. De Sardet turned, her silvery eyes finding his. Kurt watched as she struggled a moment before a polite, neutral, diplomatic expression settled across her face. As if he had not just witnessed her naked emotions only a moment before. “Captain,” she started before being cut off by Constantin. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded. “Kurt, explain yourself, at once! Those guards work for me!” Kurt approached the dias where the cousins stood, protocols be damned. “I’m afraid they don’t.” De Sardet held out a hand, stopping Constantin before he could speak. Only she held the power to curb her cousin so effectively. “Captain, please explain,” she urged him, softly. And so he did.

“Those...those...scoundrels!” Constantin fumed. “I will put an end to this immediately!” “No. You will not, cousin.” De Sardet sighed, more annoyed than worried. “You are far too weak. I will take care of this. Kurt will assist me in escorting you and the advisors to a safe location.” There was a slight lurch in the captain’s stomach when he heard his name, and not title, drop from de Sardet’s lips. “Cassandra,” Constantin wheedled. “She is right,” Kurt interrupted, forcing himself to focus on the situation at hand and not the feelings de Sardet had managed to arouse in him. The governor seemed to grasp that his two closest allies were united against him. Pouting, he followed the two as they escorted him from the audience room.

The rest of the evening was tense and frenetic. Once Constantin and his advisors had been delivered to a safe house, Kurt and de Sardet worked frantically to avert the crisis. Messengers were dispatched, pockets of resistance cleared, and finally, after many long hours, Commander Torsten was apprehended. In the dawn light, Kurt saw de Sardet’s exhaustion etched into her face. “Lady de Sardet,” he started, only to be interrupted by her acerbic laugh. “Lady de Sardet, is it?” she chided. “Come now Kurt, I thought we were friends. What happened to green blood? Besides, we both know that I am hardly a lady.” She let the innuendo hang in the air until Kurt found himself coughing to change the subject.

“Green blood,” he started again, watching as she nodded with a small smirk, “I was trying to say you should rest. You look awful.” “Ever the gentleman,” she retorted, lightly touching her heart as if she had been wounded by his words. Kurt mentally kicked himself. “I just meant…”  
“I know, I know,” de Sardet waved him off, a small smile tugging the corner of her lips. “You know, for a mercenary, you are easily disarmed.” He rolled his eyes. Even after a hellish night, de Sardet managed to joke. “Green blood, you know damn well words aren’t my business. My job is to swing the sword; you’re the one who uses the pretty words.” De Sardet chortled, a decidedly unladylike sound. “How astute!” she taunted him. “Perhaps you should be the legate, and I the mercenary. The Mother Cardinal would undoubtedly appreciate your...diplomacy more than mine.” De Sardet smiled wickedly at him then, her eyes flickering appreciatively. Kurt felt his ears burn; suddenly, he was relieved that the d’Orsay Square was so dimly lit. “And to think I worried about you,” he muttered to himself. The two walked amiably in silence, elbows bumping occasionally before they finally reached the de Sardet manor.

“I feel as if I have been escorted home by a beau,” De Sardet joked. “After an especially horrible outing, I should add.” Kurt sighed. In his concern for her earlier, he forgot how exasperating the young woman could be. De Sardet noticed the exasperation on his face, and the laughter slowly drained from her face. Gently, almost tentatively, she placed a hand on his armored chest. Kurt grew unnaturally still, afraid of what to do or say. “Kurt, thank you.” She pressed lightly, as if it would help carry the weight of her words. “I know I tease you often, and that I am no doubt the source of your constant annoyance, but you saved us tonight. Me,” she amended a heartbeat later. “I do not know what I would do without you.” She stood then on tiptoes and delicately kissed the scar on his cheek. Kurt savored the moment her soft lips brushed his skin, the smell of soap and sweat and rose oil enveloping him. In that moment, Kurt wanted nothing more than to seize her and feel the press of her body against his; to bury his face in her neck and tell her how the thought of losing her terrified him more than he thought anything could. If only he could unfreeze himself, if only he were bold.

And then, she was gone, back to an appropriate distance, her hands clasped demurely in front of her. She studied him, searching for something in his still face. Whatever it was, she did not find it, and Kurt watched as her diplomat’s mask slid into place. “Good night, Kurt,” she said softly, and perhaps with a hint of disappointment, as she slipped into the manor.

In the aftermath of the night, Kurt cursed himself for his stupidity. For not seizing the moment de Sardet had placed before him. Irritably, he clenched and unclenched his hands, wanting to touch the spot she had kissed him, but refusing to as a point of pride. He felt like the foppish fool from Serene that he had teased de Sardet about. He was twelve years her senior, beneath her station, and a hired guard. He berated himself; he had no right to get so carried away. He knew better. She was only paying him a courtesy. By the time Kurt returned to his barracks in the Governor’s Palace, he had managed to squash his emotions, tucking them away in a small box of excuses.

Kurt did not see de Sardet for four days after the coup. He was obligated to guard Constantin, and so he remained close to him. Fully armored, he stood on the dias watching the people in the audience chamber. Word had escaped that the governor had the Malichor, that the legate wasn’t actually part of the royal family, and there had been an attempted coup. The gossip had fueled the court, and they were beginning to trickle in to see the governor as if he were part of a menagerie.

Kurt had expected de Sardet to be present at her cousin’s side, navigating the murky waters of colonial politics. He found himself longing for her teasing despite the exasperation it brought. Anything to alleviate the boredom of this. But still, she was absent. Lady Morange had said that she was busy putting out fires and dealing with the state of their alliances. “She is doing her duty as a legate,” Lady Morange scolded Constantin when he pressed for servants to fetch de Sardet. “Let her be.”

On the fifth day, de Sardet appeared, travelling pack on her shoulder, Siora and Vasco at her heels. “Cousin,” she said with false cheer. Kurt stood straighter at the sight of her, mentally admonishing himself for his foolishness. She barely spared him a glance. “Cassandra! I was wondering when I would see you again!” Constantin clapped as he stood to hug her. As she approached, Kurt saw her tight smile, exhaustion hovering around her eyes. “Do not get too overjoyed, I am simply here to tell you I am off.” Constantin frowned. “So soon, fair cousin?” “I will only be gone but a moment,” she assured. Her eyes cut briefly to Kurt before she refocused on Constantin.

“Siora tells me that there is a great native healer on the island. I hope to find him and bring him here…” Uncertainty filled de Sardet’s voice. “Of course, fair cousin. Of course.” It was enough. De Sardet stepped back. “Might I have a word with your Captain before I depart?” Kurt felt the unnatural stillness return to him, as if he had been caught red handed. Constantin nodded, imperiously waving him away.

“Green Blood.” He tried to keep the accusation from his voice. “Captain.” She returned. He did not fail to note the formality that had returned to de Sardet’s voice, as if she needed to hide behind the safety of protocol. “I...I need you to stay here.” Her words came slowly, like they were coated in molasses. Kurt said nothing. “Tin-tam is not well; he is weak and I fear he is not safe.” Kurt searched her face, realizing it was the worry that drove her to distraction. She hadn’t used Constantin’s childhood nickname in years. A slip perhaps, or a moment of familiarity, Kurt could not tell.

She lightly touched his arm, startling Kurt back to the present, his heart fluttering like a school girl’s despite his best efforts. “I can trust no one else. You have differences, I know, but you have been with us for so long, and you have proven your loyalty and dedication tenfold.” To you, Kurt thought sourly, although he said nothing. “Watch over him, Captain. Keep him safe.” Her gray eyes found his, begging him. Perhaps she realized how tenuous his relationship with Constantin was. Maybe she was able to read his innermost thoughts, and knew the night of the coup could have gone very differently. “Of course, Green Blood. It’s my job, isn’t it?” De Sardet did not smile, did not let out a sigh of relief. Instead, he found her searching his face yet again. It was discerning how she could see through his layers in a matter of seconds. “Kurt...thank you,” she patted his arm, a ghost of a smile on her lips.

And then she was gone.

And he was left behind. A renown mercenary captain, a former master of arms, and a guardian, refusing to admit he pined after the noble woman that was his charge.


	2. Memoriae

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After an unexpected question, Kurt finds himself recalling his younger days and when he first met Constantin and de Sardet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! Thanks for reading, and I hope you’re enjoying it! I’m planning to update weekly (on Sundays). I’m a teacher though, and I’m getting ready to go back to virtual work. As Kurt says, “Things are about to get dicey.” So, all that is to say I will continue writing, ideally on a weekly basis, but it might be chaotic. Please hang in there with me!

“Do you ever think about the past?” Constantin asked absently. The evening sun streamed through the large windows, casting a rosy hue about the office. The young governor’s health had rapidly declined since his diagnosis. He was often insensible, wracked with the pain of the Malichor’s inevitable march. It was a death that Kurt wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy, and he felt for the boy despite their many differences. Better to die cleanly and quickly than feel life slowly leave the body.

The boy’s options were limited though, and so Kurt stood by, day by day, watching Constantin’s slow descent. The duties of governor had been subtly shifted to Lady Morange when Constantin’s mind had finally lost its predictability. There was not much to be done, other than hope de Sardet returned quickly with assistance. Occasionally, though, Constantin would rally. Sometimes the lucidity lasted for hours; others, only a few moments. It was hard to predict when such moments would strike, especially as the Malichor’s grip tightened. It was precisely why the guard captain was momentarily taken aback by the question. For a brief moment, he didn’t even know if the question was addressed to him.

“I try not to,” Kurt finally responded, perhaps a little more gruffly than he intended. The governor turned. “Not at all? Not even the pleasant things?” His murky eyes struggled to focus on Kurt. The captain shrugged. He was not especially keen on sharing memories with Constantin. In fact, he wasn’t keen on sharing memories with anyone, let alone one of his charges. “There’s not much to remember. Given to the Coin Guard at a young age, served ever since. Hired out as your master of arms. Now I’m here.” He concluded simply, hoping that would appease the governor’s sudden interest in his past. “A shame,” Constantin sighed as he slowly settled into his plush office chair. “I have so many fond memories of Cassandra. I find that you are often in them too.”

He started at the mention of de Sardet, her first name falling so casually and easily from Constantin’s lips. “I miss her terribly.” Kurt almost agreed with him but instead settled for, “Yes.” Constantin chuckled. “Now that is curt even for you Kurt.” He laughed at his wordplay, obviously quite pleased. “I’d have thought you’d have a little more to say about your favorite pupil.” There was a knowing look in Constantin’s eye as he watched Kurt. For a moment, it certainly felt like the past; before de Sardet had been sent away and before Constantin had turned into the model of nobility that Kurt detested. When life was as idyllic as it could be in the court of Prince D’Orsay.

“I miss Cassandra,” Constantin repeated, an edge creeping into his voice. “Where is she? When will she be back? You don’t think she’s abandoned me, do you?” Panic crept into his voice, the words coming faster. Constantin gripped his chair tightly; fear warped his face. Kurt said nothing, knowing that the governor’s tenuous grip on sanity had slipped for the day. He could only sigh and stand by while Constantin fell quiet. The silence sat heavy and uncomfortable in the office as it grew dim. Soon the servants would be by to light the lamps and the night guard would arrive to relieve him. As if on cue, the replacement opened the office door. “Captain,” the middle aged woman nodded. “Laurens.” He returned. “Before you relieve me, go fetch the doctor. The governor will no doubt need a sleeping draught tonight.”

Sometime later, after the doctor had delivered the draught and Constantin had been wrangled into bed, Kurt allowed Laurens to relieve him. She had muttered about how she was more than capable of her duties, and Kurt did not disagree. He simply carried de Sardet’s words to heart, and he fully intended to follow them to the letter until her return. Relieved of duty, Kurt slowly made his way back to the palace barracks. Alone in his sparse room, he began to unbuckle the various pieces of armor. He set aside the well worn cuirass and gauntlets, noting they needed a fresh application of oil. Kurt let out a sigh. Guarding Constantin wasn’t especially taxing work, and despite early training and the late hour, he found that he wasn’t tired. “I should do this now,” Kurt grumbled, collecting a rag and armor oil. If he couldn’t sleep the least he could do was be productive, and old habits die hard.

Kurt sat on his lumpy mattress and pulled the armor close. With a practiced hand, he began work on his gauntlets, scrubbing and buffing every detail until it gleamed. The work was soothing, and soon Kurt found his mind drifting back to Constantin’s earlier words. The past? It has been brutal and unforgiving, not worth remembering. And yet Kurt found himself returning to a time when he was still a boy but thought he wasn’t, and, more importantly, his life finally seemed to be leading him somewhere promising.

__________________________________________________

At only twenty-two, Kurt considered himself to be a man. He had rapidly climbed the ranks of the Coin Guard; he had impressive skills and expertise. He’d beaten and killed more people than any normal twenty two year old should. He won the grudging respect of his guildmates and earned a reputation as a tough but fair captain. New recruits clamoured to be in his squadrons. Kurt even had the look of a well seasoned mercenary; the lifestyle had beaten soft, round boyishness out of him long ago. Only muscle and scars remained. So, by all accounts, Kurt had earned the right to manhood.

As he stood in the sunny courtyard listening to the frantic screams of palace staff, Kurt reconsidered though. He felt out of place as soon as he had stepped into the Prince’s courtyard. The cobbles were even and clean swept and ornamental plants hugged the porticos. It smelled of wealth and power. Kurt had heard of such places but as a mercenary, even a captain, he had not often been given the chance to visit them. Prince d’Orsay’s request to have him as his master of arms had changed that though. Kurt accepted the offer immediately; yes, he would be leaving the daily humdrum of mercenary life behind, but he had served his dues. It was time for new opportunities, better pay, and something a little less demanding than life on a battlefield. But with the peaceful courtyard in chaos, an entirely new and unfamiliar battlefield, Kurt found his confidence somewhat shaken.

“Lord Constantin! Lord Constantin get down here!” A maid shrieked, her face red. More house staff streamed into the courtyard. They frantically began motioning and scrabbling about, trying to find some way to distract the boy. Kurt watched as the child, Lord Constantin presumably, continued his climb up the parapet, reaching higher and higher. “ Lord Constantin!” the maid called again to no avail.

A firm pat on his back distracted Kurt from the scene in the courtyard. A grizzled old man beamed up at him. “The new master of arms, eh?” Kurt nodded, distracted by another scream. It seemed the child had slipped but regained his purchase. The man chuckled. “Good luck to you then. Retirement could not come for me soon enough. That boy was nearly the end of me.” He did not wait for Kurt’s response, whistling cheerfully as he left. It seemed the boy would be the end of the maid too. She was wringing her hands, tears springing to her eyes. Based on their reactions, the boy was none other than the Prince’s young son, his new pupil. Kurt sighed. _Of course he’d be wild_ , he thought. _Nothing I can’t train out of him, though._ But as more people begged, pleaded, and ordered the boy to come back down, Kurt began to think that perhaps he had been too hasty to agree to his new position.

“Tin Tam.” The voice was small, but it carried across the courtyard nonetheless. The girl could be no more than ten, yet she carried herself with such confidence. “Tin Tam,” she said again, warning creeping into her small voice. Kurt saw the boy flinch on the wall. He looked down at the small girl sheepishly. “Cousin!” He yelled back. The girl rolled her eyes and hitched her skirts up, exposing her bare legs. “Lady Cassandra…” a staff member warned. Like her cousin, she did not heed the warning. She simply began to scramble up the wall. The staff fell silent and watched her shimmy up the wall with surprising speed. She finally reached Constantin. The two whispered, looking down at the staff. Constantin scowled and pointed. She smacked him on the arm and said something that made him turn a shade of red that was noticeable from the ground. Everybody held their breath as they watched the two on the parapet.

A moment later, they slowly began to descend. Safely on the ground, the boy fidgeted nervously. He had been all aplomb only moments before. Beneath his cousin’s scowl, though, he wilted and soon mumbled an apology to the maid. The girl, Cassandra, looked satisfied. She laughed then and smiled, revealing a gap where her two front teeth should be. Her cousin perked up. He grabbed her hand and tugged her back into the palace. It seemed all had been forgiven. The staff in the courtyard disbursed, leaving Kurt alone and confused in the courtyard. Finally, a well groomed man approached him, wearing the d’Orsay crest.

“Captain,” he drawled in a well cultivated accent. “I am Lucius, Prince d’Orsay’s manservant. He requested that I show you about the palace and ensure you are settled, as well as answer any questions you might have.” Kurt adjusted his pack and jerked his thumb in the direction the two children had run off. “Does that happen very often?” Lucius directed Kurt towards one of the pathways. “Lord Constantine scaling the walls? I cannot say that it does. His antics? Most certainly. You’ll find that he is quite the rebel.” “And the girl?” “You mean Lady Cassandra de Sardet? Ever the follower,” he tsked. _Follower? Hardly._ After what he saw in the courtyard, he suspected that the brave little girl was more likely to be the mastermind than the follower. “The two are inseparable, though,” Lucius continued. “You won’t find one without the other.”

Lucius gave Kurt a brief tour of the palace. “You won’t be here too often,” he remarked snidely. He let the man’s jabs roll off of him. He’d heard worse in his life, and he was not entirely wrong. Most of his time would be spent in the barracks or training grounds anyway. Both of which he discovered were well maintained and properly equipped. The guards seemed lax, but well trained. It wouldn’t be too hard to raise the expectations then. “And here you are. Prince d’Orsay would like you to begin training Lord Constantin and Lady de Sardet in a week.” “The lady too?” Lucius stared at him icily. “As I said, they are inseparable. The Prince gives you free reign to do as you see fit with their training. He would just like to see results. Any further questions you can address to your lieutenants.” Lucius sniffed and turned on his heel, hurrying off to the plush interior of the palace. 

The week proved to be more than enough time for Kurt to settle and take stock. So when the new week dawned bright and warm, Kurt decided it was time his new students faced the music. With the help of a maid, he navigated his way through the palace to Constantin’s rooms. The first thing the boy must learn was discipline, and Kurt decided it would begin now. He threw the door open with enough force that it banged loudly against the wall. Any normal human would’ve been awoken by the racket, but Constantin continued to sleep soundly. Perhaps he had never been woken at such an early hour. Kurt approached the bed, making as much noise as possible. He was surprised to see a pair of gray eyes peeking out at him from under the covers.

“Who are you?” the lump under the covers demanded. “Kurt.” “What do you want?” “ It’s time for morning training.” “What training?” it said suspiciously. The situation was beginning to feel more like an interrogation than a wake up call. A pair of blue eyes soon glimmered from beneath the sheets. There was whispering. A giggle. Kurt crossed his arms, beginning to lose patience. He reached for the blankets; time to end this nonsense now. But, in a sudden flurry, the blankets were thrown back. Lady Cassandra stood on the bed, trying her hardest to look apologetic. Constantin laughed behind her. “I’m sorry,” she said, bowing. “I had a nightmare last night about a scary monster and Tin Tam told me to stay here but then you came in this morning and you were so loud and you look mean and so I thought maybe you were a monster too but Tin Tam told me I was wrong and you’re supposed to teach us how to fight monsters,” she concluded in a rush with her hands on her hips and a wide toothless smile on her face. “I’m ready!” She jumped off the bed. “Come on Tin Tam! We’re going to learn to fight monsters!”

Kurt grabbed the young girl by the collar of her night gown. “Really Green Blood? In your nighties?” She scowled up at him. “What’s a green blood?” Kurt sighed. “It’s a phrase.” The sun was barely up and he was beginning to regret the early wake up call. He had never greeted morning training with such energy. “Are we going to use swords?!” Constantin piped up. He didn’t wait for Kurt’s response. “Swords Cassie! Real Swords!” The boy whooped and jumped from the bed, running around the room.

On his next pass by, Kurt snatched Constantin by his nightgown collar as well. He shook the two of them until their chatter stopped. “Now, listen here. I am your drill captain. Not your friend. You will follow my orders to a letter, do you understand?” Constantin glared at him, clearly not liking the turn of events. Kurt shook him again. Cassandra was quick to catch on. “Yes sir,” she said meekly. Constantin gaped. “But…” He didn’t get to finish his sentence. Kurt shook him again, harder. “I said, do you understand?” Constantin looked to his cousin for help, but she only shrugged. The boy looked wounded by his cousin’s betrayal. “Yes, sir,” he eventually hissed through gritted teeth.

“First, get yourselves dressed and find me in the training yard. You have ten minutes.” He dropped the two children. Cassandra immediately scurried off in excitement. Constantin stared at him a moment. “I don’t like you,” he declared. “Now you have nine minutes,” Kurt returned with a shrug. The Coin Guard recruits had never been bold enough to say it aloud, but he suspected many felt the same way as Constantin. It hardly bothered him. “Tin Tam! Come onnnnnnn!” Cassandra’s voice echoed down the hallway, and Kurt had to stop himself from laughing at her wheedling. It seemed to be the motivation the boy needed though, and he left to get dressed.

Eight minutes later, Kurt found the two in the training yard. Never had he seen two cousins look so dissimilar. Constantin was fair and dressed elegantly, his blonde hair shining in the light. Cassandra, olive skinned and dark haired, was haphazardly dressed in old, patched clothes. _I suppose they balance each other out_. “Follow me.” Cassandra instantly trotted after him. “When do we fight monsters?” she asked. Constantin trailed after them, still sulking over his earlier treatment. He led the two into the armory. Amongst all the armor and equipment, Constantin finally perked up. “I want a _big_ sword!” he exclaimed as he took off towards the racks in the back.

“Stop.” Kurt commanded. “There will be no monster fighting. And you _will not_ touch the swords. You are to clean every piece of armor in this room.” Cassandra looked up at him, looking all the world like a wounded puppy. “How can you expect to fight monsters if your equipment isn’t well cared for? It is the foundation of a good soldier.” He passed them the cleaning rags and oil. “Once you demonstrate you can care for armor, then maybe we will move on to technique.” The two of them slumped. “I’ll be back in a few hours. Get to it.” They said nothing as he left.

The noon sun wavered behind clouds. Kurt expected the children to be well worn out by then. He stepped into the armory only to find the two cousins with their heads together, laughing. “What’s this?” he demanded. Constantin turned. “We finished!” the boy said, a sense of pride creeping into his voice. Kurt inspected their work. Patches of oil sat heavily on the surface while dirt still remained tucked away in the crevices. “Do it again.” “But, it’s done!” Constantin shouted. “Yes, but poorly. Do it again, and do it right.” Constantin flushed. “We’re tired!” Kurt folded his arms, ready to face the impending tantrum. The boy would need to learn eventually.

“Tin Tam,” Cassandra intervened. “You heard what he said this morning.” She looked at him, undeterred. “We’ll do better! I’ll do whatever it takes to fight monsters!” She nudged her cousin, much as she had when Kurt had first seen her. “Fine.” Constantin muttered. Without her intervention, Kurt suspected he would have faced a tantrum the likes of which he had never seen. He nodded at the children, his face stern despite Cassandra’s bright smile.

Kurt returned in the early evening after he had run drills with the guards. He paused outside the armory, unsure of what he’d find. He half expected Constantin to have left in rage and Cassandra to be sitting amidst the pile of armor with a smile. Whipping the guards into shape had been an easy task compared to the two cousins. He pushed the door open hesitantly. Again, Kurt found them huddled together and giggling. Cassandra looked up at the sound of the door, her gray eyes sparkling. She elbowed her cousin until he stood up and turned to face Kurt. The captain grudgingly had to admit he admired the young girl’s enthusiasm and ability to handle her cousin. “Green blood.” She stood straighter, nudging Constantin to do the same. The boy rolled his eyes but complied with his cousin. Kurt inspected their second attempt at cleaning. “Much better,” he said. It was the most praise he’d ever offer, but both children perked up.

“So...swords now?” Constantin questioned hopefully. “No boy. Not yet. We’ll start technique tomorrow, though.” The answer seemed to satisfy them both, as Constantin let out a whoop and ran for the armory door. “But,” Kurt warned sternly, “you both will be responsible for cleaning the armor every day after your training. Dismissed.” Constantin’s glare alone would have been enough to scare off a lesser man, but Kurt remained unphased.

He felt a gentle tug at the hem of his [gambeson](https://www.google.com/search?q=gambeson&safe=strict&sxsrf=ALeKk02fck2C8e_R2wIwwlSIwNkUDnqvcg:1595810027103&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwiik63Ol-zqAhXuYd8KHb63DCkQ_AUoAnoECA4QBA&biw=1280&bih=692). “He’ll behave, I’ll make sure of it,” Cassandra said, smiling up at him. “I don’t doubt you will, Green Blood.” As he looked down at her gaping smile, Kurt genuinely believed in the ten year old. She trotted after her cousin with a small wave. “See ya tomorrow!” Kurt thought back to the boy’s scowls and barely avoided tantrum and his counterpart’s unflagging enthusiasm. He had considered himself an experienced trainer and mercenary, but after the push back today he wasn’t entirely sure. _By the Enlightened_ , he thought, _maybe they will be the death of me after all._


	3. Referre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life in Prince de Orsay's court becomes sour after an unexpected order.

In the eight years that Kurt had been the master of arms for Prince d’Orsay, he had seen his two pupils grow into fine young adults. Constantin had proven to be a gifted swordsman; he excelled in his arms lessons and his boyhood temper had mostly mellowed. He had become a jovial and flirtatious young man, a true center of attention. Of course, just because Constantin was considered a man by the court didn’t mean he always behaved as one. He was often involved in some hare-brained scheme that required Kurt or Cassandra to intervene. “It’s all in good fun!” Constantin often joked. Luckily, most of his schemes were relatively harmless and would be more of a damage to face than actual person or property.

His Green Blood, on the other hand, had taken a somewhat different trajectory. Kurt struggled to admit it, but the bold, monster fighting eight year old girl had wormed her way into his affections. What had started out as a simple description had become her nickname, and almost a term of endearment. They had both learned that she would never be an outstanding swordswoman; Cassandra’s skills were passable at best. It was her unflagging dedication that had won her a spot as Kurt’s favorite, though he would never tell. Rumor had it that it was that same dedication that earned her spots as both Mr. de Courcillion’s and Prince de Orsay’s favorite as well.

Yet it seemed the attention hardly affected her. In fact, it seemed quite the opposite. The bold eight year old had been replaced by a quiet, almost withdrawn eighteen year old. She hardly spoke anymore and often hid herself in books or training. Kurt had watched the change gradually take her. It had saddened him to see the playful light leave her eyes only to be replaced with a dull flatness. Some of the female guards had told him it was a naturally trying time for any young woman. As if that explained things. He had heard whispers that the other children at court bullied her mercilessly over silly things. Things like the sprawling black birthmark on her face. Or that she looked nothing like her mother. That her father was probably some poor servant and not a noble adventurer, or, worse yet, that she was actually the child of a whore. Kurt understood what it felt like to be on the receiving end of bullying. After all, he had been through it as a boy himself. He suspected that the constant verbal abuse, and not this “naturally trying time,” had really been what wore her down.

Regardless, Cassandra was considered a respectable member of the court. And she had finally reached her majority as dictated by custom. Marriage proposals had begun to trickle in. Sometimes the lads would interrupt a sparring session, only to be swiftly thwacked by Kurt. It irritated him to no end that the fools would wander in. No doubt they were trying to prove their skill or manliness, but Kurt had little time for it and Cassandra’s often desolate looks confirmed that she cared for it even less than he did. And so they were soundly beaten and sent away. It had only taken three suitors before they got the message. They never ventured to the training grounds after that.

The place had become a sort of sanctuary for Cassandra. Kurt often found her sitting alongside the sparring ring, reading some book from de Courcillion or simply watching the guards train. Sometimes Constantin sat with her. The two were still thick as thieves, but the years had changed them and given them perspective. They had developed different hobbies and acquaintances, but undoubtedly remained each other's closest confidants.

On the especially bad days though, Cassandra could be found in the armory polishing away. She had told Kurt that the simple activity helped ease her mind. Unsurprisingly, that is where he found her on that early autumn day.

“Green Blood,” he said in a way of greeting. She did not respond; she only rubbed the greave she was working on harder. Over their years together, Kurt had learned not to pry. She would tell him in good time or she wouldn’t. It wasn’t his business unless she made it so. He sat beside her and picked up the other greave and began the oiling process as well. She had been right; there was something oddly relaxing about the process.

He whistled softly to himself, enjoying the companionable silence. “I don’t want to go,” she finally said, almost whispering. Kurt nodded in understanding. He had felt similarly when he had first finished training. That sense of dread that just sat in the stomach like a heavy rock, never leaving. “I...I…” she trailed off. She didn’t cry, and Kurt gave her credit for it. She didn’t complain about the unfairness of it all, another credit to her. “I’ve never been away from home before.”

“It’s hard at first,” Kurt replied. No need to hide the reality from her. “But it gets easier after a while.” Prince de Orsay had announced only two days ago that he would be sending Cassandra to the court of Prince de Boronois, an ally far to the East. It wasn’t uncommon for the princes of Serene to send their children to their allies once they reached their majority. Often it was for education or alliance building. Occasionally for marriage. But Prince de Orsay had not clearly specified for what purpose Cassandra was being sent or for how long. The news had sent ripples of rumor through the court, and Constantin’s very public outburst had only fanned the flames of speculation. Kurt had heard many of the rumors, but paid them little mind.

“Green Blood. If you’re worried, Constantin will be fine here. I’ll make sure of it,” he said, unintentionally echoing her childhood words. She chuckled. “I don’t doubt you. I’m honestly more worried about you.” Kurt raised an eyebrow. “I’m afraid he’ll run you ragged.” He grunted in response. It seemed likely. “And,” she added in a small voice, “I’m worried about myself.” They sat in silence for a long moment, lost in their own thoughts. After a moment, Kurt stood and strode to his locker. He rummaged a moment before he found what he was looking for.

“Here.” He pushed a dagger into Cassandra’s hand. It was a simple thing but well made. He had had it commissioned weeks ago to give to Cassandra as a birthday gift. He’d been distracted by something though and had forgotten. Now seemed as good a time as any. “Your sword work is...questionable. You’ll more than likely need this. For backup.” She looked up at him, a question in her eyes. Kurt knew it was out of character for him to give gifts, especially to his pupils, but he sensed in this instance it was right. And he knew that de Courcillion showered both Cassandra and Constantin with gifts. A simple dagger would do no harm. “You’ll do fine,” he said. It was the most comfort he’d given to anybody. It felt oddly foreign to him.

“Thank you,” Cassandra replied. She blushed faintly as she tucked the dagger into the bodice of her dress. She looked at him a moment more, the blush creeping down her neck. Abruptly, she stood. “I should go. I’m sure Constantin is looking for me.” She curtsied politely before ducking out of the armory. Kurt rubbed the back of his neck. He had a vague feeling that perhaps he had done something he shouldn’t have. Or maybe crossed a line. He couldn’t quite place his finger on it.

Two days later, Cassandra left in a grand procession. And then all hell broke loose.

____________________________________________________________________________

Constantin had always been a somewhat rebellious child. In the days following Cassandra’s departure, he rapidly escalated from rebellious young adult to full on unholy terror. He loudly protested his father’s decisions during audiences, publicly humiliated members of the court, hosted obscene parties, gambled, whored, and used his authority to escape punishment, among other things. Kurt tried to curb the young man, but Cassandra had been right. He was running him ragged. The best he could do was stop harm from befalling him or those around him.

In the first few months, Kurt had considered writing to Cassandra for advice. She would certainly know how to best calm her cousin. But Kurt’s pride ultimately stopped him. What would a letter do? He had trained the boy, hadn’t he? Surely he could rein him in. Constantin responded well initially, especially when Kurt threatened to tell his cousin about his behavior -- a low blow and last resort, but effective nonetheless. Eventually though, as threats are wont to do, it lost its power and Consantin’s devilry grew tenfold. Kurt tried several other tactics to no avail, and slowly, he withdrew from trying to slow the boy. If he wanted to behave like a spoiled, drunk brat then so be it. Besides, he had heard that Cassandra would be gone for a year at most. All they had to do was weather Constantin’s storm.

But a year slid into two. And two became three. Still, Cassandra did not return. Constantin became more mercurial, prone to bouts of cruelty and indifference. Although news from the de Boronois court was fairly regular, mentions of Cassandra were vague and stated she was well at best. Cassandra herself hardly wrote. Her letters to Constantin arrived maybe once a quarter. Her cousin always greedily opened them and devoured their words, but he always looked as if he tasted something bitter when he finished reading them. She had written to Kurt once as well. A surprise to be sure. The letter had turned out to be a nicety; she was well, she was enjoying her stay, etcetera etcetera. The letter had barely been worth the paper it was written on.

Eventually, Constantin grew suspicious of the letters. “Something odd is going on there, and I intend to find out what!” It was towards the end of the third year when Constantin reached this conclusion. He announced it quite loudly in front of his father and had stormed from the dining hall. Prince de Orsay waved Kurt away, indicating he should follow the boy. He stalked Constantin down the hall and into his rooms. There he watched the boy frantically scrabble out a letter. He sealed it with fresh wax and his signet ring before he dashed from the room. Kurt had a sinking suspicion he knew who that letter was addressed to. He trailed Constantin to the stables where he delivered the letter to one of the grooms. The boy turned to him. “You know something odd is afoot. Now all we have to do is wait,” he said smugly to Kurt.

They didn’t have to wait too long; a letter arrived for Constantin shortly before the month was out. He had gone tearing through the training ground in his excitement. Kurt, nor his guards, paid any mind to him as they practiced their drills. Only a half hour later though, a servant appeared at the edge of the arena. “Captain,” the young woman announced, “Lord Constantin requests your presence in the library.” Kurt sighed. He waved over a lieutenant to finish the drills and followed after the servant.

Kurt found Constantin pacing the library like a rabid dog. He angrily thrust the letter towards him. “This cannot be. It is full of lies. Read it!” Kurt took the several page letter.

_Dearest Constantin,_

_What a pleasure to hear from you! It has been far too long since you have written to me. Do try to be more frequent in your correspondence, otherwise I’ll have to believe the rumors I’m hearing about you. While titillating, they are not doing you any favors. Your father will resort to more extreme measures if you are not careful._

_As to your query, Lady de Sardet is quite well. In fact, she is more than well. Lady de Sardet is the crown jewel of the court. Such a vivacious and witty woman! She’s no doubt captured the hearts of many a young man...or woman. Who am I to judge? We have grown terribly fond of her, my sisters the most so. I believe they intend to travel with her when she returns. She does not talk of Prince d’Orsay’s court very much though, and I imagine with all of her studies she has little time to write to you. Rest assured that your cousin is well loved and cared for here. Just the other day…._

Kurt skimmed the rest of the contents of the letter. They merely recounted events of the court, sometimes involving de Sardet, but more often than not she was absent from the tales. He did not write about a return date for Cassandra. The letter concluded with his signature. “Lord Philip de Boronis?” Kurt asked. “Yes, yes. Prince d’Boronois’s son. We occasionally spent summers together. Don’t you recall?” Kurt shook his head. He couldn’t say he did. “Point aside, he’s lying. I just know it.” He skimmed the letter again. “I see nothing here that indicates that.” Constantin gave him a withering stare. “And here I thought you were actually discerning, especially when it involves your green blood,” Constantin nearly spat.

The boy’s tone was venomous, edging towards the cruelty Kurt had begun to see more frequently. He could feel the challenge in Constantin’s words, but refused to rise to his bait. He’d have to seek his fight elsewhere. “She can handle herself if anything goes sideways,” Kurt said with an unconcerned shrug. Afterall, he’d trained them both and knew what they were capable of. It didn’t seem to appease Constantin though; he looked as if he was about to press the matter. Kurt cut him off. “Anything else sir, or can I get back to my duties?” Anger, and perhaps a hint of disappointment, flashed across Constantin’s face. “Very well,” he said in dismissal.

A few days later, a letter from Cassandra arrived. It was obvious that Lord de Boronois had encouraged it, but Constantin was overjoyed nonetheless. He passed the letter around to anybody who wanted to see it.

_Constantin,_

_I am fine. Please stop pestering Philip and mind your own realm as I hear it is disastrous. I will return in the spring with Lady Anna and Lady Selene de Boronois. I hope your affairs are in order by then._

_With Regards,  
_ _Cassandra_

Kurt could almost hear the tone in Cassandra’s letter; it was quite reminiscent of her younger self. Despite the brevity of the letter, it carried enough weight that Constantin’s mood instantly changed. He still enjoyed his flirtations and gambling, but the wild parties stopped as did his bullying. While it wasn’t as regular as Kurt would’ve liked, Constantin even showed up from time to time in the training yard for practice. The boy worked hard over the remaining months of winter to repair his image and reputation. And all over four lines from his cousin. Kurt regretted not writing to her those years ago. He knew the two were close -- that Constantin considered his cousin his only true friend -- but he hadn’t fully realized the depth of their bond until that particular letter arrived. It was a terrible misjudgement on his part.

By the time spring arrived, Constantin was in a perpetual state of frenzy. He ran about directing the servants to clean this or arrange that. “Everything must be perfect for our guests!” he exclaimed. He seemed more like his old self in the days leading up to Cassandra’s return. Kurt just watched; he doubted he’d be of any help anyway.

Finally, the day was upon them. Constantin dragged everybody to the courtyard as soon as he heard the rumble of wheels on the drive. The elegant carriage came into view and soon it stopped before the assembled group. Anticipation hung in the air. Kurt found himself caught up in it; it had been four years since he had last seen his green blood. He could only wonder how she had fared in that time.

The footman arranged the step stool and opened the carriage door. Constantin was there in a heartbeat, ready to assist his cousin from the carriage. A delicately gloved hand emerged from the shadows to accept Constantin’s assistance. The petite woman dressed in a fine gray travelling gown was most assuredly not Cassandra. Constantin held his smile as he helped her down. “Lady Anna,” he greeted with a head bow. She curtsied in response, a small smile on her pleasant face. Her sister, Lady Selene, stepped down without assistance.  
The two sisters took Constantin by his arms, chatting about inane things as they led him away from the carriage. Constantin was the very image of a polite host, but he tossed a helpless look over his shoulder, looking for his cousin. She did not alight from the carriage though, and as they began to move further away, the retinue had no choice but to follow after the nobles.

Kurt brought up the rear, just as confused as the rest of the party. She should have been with the de Boronois sisters in the carriage. Perhaps she was delayed? He refused to be concerned just yet; there were a myriad of reasons Cassandra might not have arrived yet. There was a light brush against his shoulder. He looked down to see somebody walking beside him, their hat hidden beneath a broad felt hat. They looked up, a smirk across their face.

“Green Blood,” he said, somewhat surprised. Her grin widened; it reminded him of when she was a child. “Captain,” she responded cheerfully. She was dressed in a finely tailored man’s travelling suit and carried herself with a confidence that had been absent four years ago. Kurt noticed that the black mark on her face had grown, inching down her jaw and neck and creeping towards her lips. The sun caught it and for a moment, and it shimmered as if little gems were hidden beneath its whorling pattern. He remembered when she tried to hide it under cosmetics or high necked dresses. Whatever had happened in de Boronois’ court seemed to have influenced Cassandra. It suits her.

“Horseback is much more comfortable,” she said, interrupting Kurt’s study. He offered a noncommittal grunt. “Some things never change.” Mirth tinged her voice. “I wonder how long it’ll take mother hen to realize where I am.” Kurt couldn’t stop the chuckle that escaped him. There was an unexpected easy camaraderie between the two of them. He wondered if she had stayed in Prince de Orsay’s court if she would have blossomed as she had.

“Cassandra! There you are!” Lady Anna exclaimed from up ahead. It seemed she had been noticed sooner than intended. She offered Kurt an apologetic smile. “I’ll see you around Captain,” she said with a wink before trotting off to join the group ahead. There was a conviction in her voice, and, like when she was a child, he didn’t doubt her. He fully expected this new de Sardet would meander into the armory quite soon.


	4. Pugnare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lady Cassandra de Sardet apprehensively returns home, unsure of what lies in wait.

_Constantin,_

_I am fine. Please stop pestering Philip and mind your own realm as I hear it is disastrous. I will return in the spring with Lady Anna and Lady Selene de Boronois. I hope your affairs are in order by then._

“You really should write to him more frequently,” Philip said as he wrapped his arms around Cassandra from behind. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his hands wandering to her shirt laces. “I would if you didn’t keep me so busy,” she replied. Cassandra set the letter aside and turned into his embrace. She pulled him closer, cutting off his wry chuckle with a kiss. His hands slid beneath her shirt and skimmed the soft skin of her lower back. Cassandra sighed, savoring the sensation. Her own hands drifted lazily to the buttons of his doublet. A pang of guilt interrupted her enjoyment.

“I have work to do,” Cassandra said, almost tiredly. She tried to pull away only to find that Philip’s grip had tightened. He smirked. “I know.” He kissed her lightly on her jaw where the black ‘birthmark’ had spread. “After all, I’m the one who assigned you to that position.” He traced a path to her lips, slowly, tantalizingly. “Then you should perhaps let me do it,” Cassandra said, turning her head. “I’d hate to disappoint my employer.” Philip released her, his face reflecting the mirth in Cassandra’s eyes. “I very much doubt you could ever do that.” He kissed her lightly on the cheek before he stepped back. “Another time, perhaps,” he said with an exaggerated sigh. Cassandra rolled her eyes and swatted his arm. “Be gone! The faster I tend to your tasks, the faster we can…” she trailed off, waggling her eyebrows. “I like the way you think.” He bowed with a flourish, no doubt enjoying the exasperation it caused Cassandra. “Until then, my lady.” He remained bowed as he backed out of the room, simply for the sake of annoying her. “Good bye!” Cassandra called after him flippantly.

Philip de Boronois was by no means a handsome man. If anything he was simply average. The court gossip mongers said he was actually quite dull too, but as the heir apparent they could overlook his flaws. Yet, from the moment Cassandra arrived in that foriegn court, she had never met a kinder or more loyal friend. What the court described as dull, she saw as even tempered and thoughtful. He had taken her timid, battered eighteen year old self under his wing and encouraged her pursuits. Seeing their blooming relationship, Prince de Boronois appointed Philip her mentor. He proved to be a firm tutor, reminding her in some ways of the grumpy master of arms she had left behind.

Prince de Orsay had sent her away with only one command: learn to make yourself useful to this court and your cousin. The words had stung more than Cassandra thought possible. She had carried them for nearly half of her first year before she told Philip. He had laughed. “Well that is easy enough to do!” And so he taught her diplomacy, dancing, sciences and literature, languages, leadership, and magic, among other things. “You have a good, solid foundation,” he would often tell her. “We are simply honing those skills. Making you more ‘useful’ so to speak.”

Somewhere along the line, his dry humor and constant encouragement became endearing. It wasn’t love; they both agreed. It wasn’t necessarily lust either. It was something other, a platonic arrangement they were both comfortable with. Kindred spirits perhaps. Regardless, Cassandra cared deeply for Philip -- admired him even -- but could not see herself tied to him for the rest of her life. He agreed. They simply liked each other’s company and would take advantage of all of its facets while they could. Their relationship had been a highlight during her stay, which was now rapidly coming to an end.

Her uncle had written to her; it was time to return and put her new found skills to the test. He also requested Philip’s sisters, Anna and Selene, to join her. No doubt he had plans to marry one of them to Constantin. Cassandra was not as close to Philip’s sisters. He kept her busy on various tasks to complete her education, and so she was not often at court. Still, the girls included her in their circle, and after four years it was hard not to have developed some sort of bond with the two sweet natured girls. Cassandra considered herself lucky to have them as friends, and she offered silent prayers that they would not be beaten down by the de Orsay court as she had.

Too soon, the night before their departure was upon them. Cassandra felt the dread settle in her stomach. It was like returning to a pit of snakes. They had tormented her at court with their whispers and stares, and it had done more damage than any weapon could. Constantin was her only ally, and yet he hardly understood what she faced. It made her feel more isolated and alone than ever. She did not want to return to that. How long would it be before they tore her down again? Before she was a shell of herself?

“My lady,” Philip said lightly. They lay pressed naked together in her bed. He dragged his fingers through the ends of her dark hair, soothing her. “You will be ok.” It was as if he could read her thoughts. “You are different now. A woman. Strong. Bold and clever. Beautiful.” He kissed her on her forehead to emphasize his point. “They cannot hurt you any longer. You are beyond them and their petty words. You will soar higher than they ever will.”

The words struck a chord within Cassandra and she felt tears well in her eyes. She tried hard to stop them, but they escaped, sliding down her cheeks. “Come now,” Philip chided softly. “I suspect this is the last time I will ever see you, and I’d hate to mar it with sorrow.” His words only brought a fresh wave of heartache. He was a mentor, a friend, a lover, a kindred spirit. He had been a balm to her battered soul, and he had helped her grow in ways she had never imagined. She would mourn his absence and the distance. While they would undoubtedly continue to write to each other, there were some things letters couldn’t capture.

Philip seemed to realize the same thing; he watched Cassandra solemnly, his fingers still teasing her hair. She kissed him. She kissed him more deeply than she had before, her feelings of gratitude, love, and sorrow fueling it. “Well then,” Cassandra said as she broke away. “I suppose we should make the best of it.” She pulled herself atop him, straddling his hips. He smirked up at her. “I like the way you think.”

In the morning, Philip helped her dress. One last moment of intimacy. He slid the jacket over her shoulders and settled it appropriately. “I know how much you favor men’s clothing,” he said. “The Enlightened knows why, but your trunks are full of it. Properly tailored of course. You’ll cut quite a striking figure.” Philip turned her around so she could inspect the travelling suit in the mirror. Cassandra had to admit that the well tailored jacket accentuated her tiny waist in the most flattering manner. Much better than the pieces she had been buying premade. “A gift,” Philip explained as he stood behind her, chin on her shoulder. “For the new Lady de Sardet.” She whirled around, hugging Philip tightly. “Thank you,” she whispered. He squeezed her tightly back. “You’ll blow them all away,” he whispered back. He gently pushed her back. “Now, let’s see you and my silly sisters off.”

There was little fanfare for the send off. A few cordial goodbyes, a handshake here, an air kiss there. Nothing to publicly show how close the heir apparent and Lady de Sardet had grown during her stay. Cassandra played her part, keeping her face pleasantly neutral as she rode beside the carriage bearing the de Boronois sisters. The carriage would have shielded her from prying eyes and no doubt be more comfortable in the long run, but Cassandra preferred the easy movements of the horse and the sense of freedom. The roads between here and there were relatively smooth too, so the ride should be comfortable and uneventful. Both of which proved to be true.

Occasionally, one of the girls would unlatch their carriage window so they could chat with Cassandra while she rode beside them. As they approached the de Orsay region though, the girls grew more excited and chatted eagerly between themselves. Cassandra didn’t attempt to ingratiate herself into the conversation. They were excited to be somewhere new for the first time. To be away from home and away from the watchful eyes of their mother. They would soon see that Prince de Orsay’s court was hardly a thing to be excited about. Cassandra suspected they would find it much harsher than their own realm.

As they approached the palace, Cassandra drew her horse up. She wanted to take a few moments to collect herself and admire the view of the city. She waved the group on. “I’ll be there momentarily! Go on without me.” Her horse shuffled beneath her, eager to follow the group. Absentmindedly Cassandra patted the gelding’s neck. _I can do this_ she told herself firmly, repeating it like a mantra in her head. _Their words can’t hurt me anymore._ She took a deep breath and then spurred her horse to a lazy canter.

By the time she reached the courtyard, Anna and Selene were enamored with Constantin and leading him away. They wouldn’t be a match for the Constantin she knew, but it was charming to see them try. The courtly retinue followed after them with a familiar figure bringing up the rear. She handed the reins to the waiting groom and trotted silently after them. In a moment of perverse humor, she hoped to surprise her old mentor and crept beside him as stealthily as possibly. She almost stopped when her hat brushed his arm, but, as ever, Kurt was alert and found her before she could even attempt to abandon her plan.

“Green Blood.” She was pleased to see he looked surprised. It wasn’t what she had intended, but it suited well enough. “Captain,” she retorted with a smile. The familiar face had made her giddy. Giddy enough that she hardly remembered what she said to him before Anna realized she had joined the party. She ruefully smiled; Kurt, whether he knew it or not, had been a source of her first crush and many of her adolescent fantasies. A rugged, scarred soldier? What teenaged girl wouldn’t fantasize about that? She naturally had no intention of telling him that, but she had wanted a little time to catch up with the stoic master of arms. Crush aside, he had also been one of the three people she had felt safe and comfortable around as a teen. “I’ll see you around Captain,” she winked as she left his side. The genuine shock on his face made her chuckle. It seemed like teasing the master of arms would be a new hobby of hers. She’d have to make her way to the training ground soon.

Unfortunately, duties delayed her for the first few weeks she was home. Her mother was ailing and so she spent many days by her side before Princess de Sardet shooed her away. Constantin had, unsurprisingly, attached himself to her like glue. He was still unconvinced that there hadn’t been something suspicious about her four year absence. “Constantin, really,” Cassandra pled, “nothing strange or foul happened. I assure you. Would I really have brought Anna and Selene with me if things had gone badly?” The answer only made Constantin latch on to her more firmly, as if she would slip away again. She tolerated it for a time before, much like her mother, she shooed him sternly away. “Spend time with Anna and Selene!” Cassandra snapped. “Show them this charm I keep hearing so much about!” Finally chastised, Constantin gave her space. Only for his father to fill the void.

Cassandra had been dreading meeting Prince de Orsay. He had been cruel in the past, and she expected nothing less now that she had returned. Her mark was not far off. Her uncle had greeted her with a polite chilliness. “It is time to see if you have learned to be useful,” he drawled. There had been no greetings, no show of affection for his niece. It was no wonder her cousin rebelled as he did. Without formality, Prince de Orsay appointed her the mistress of his spies. “The previous one is remiss in his duties. Collect the information and deal with the nobles as you see fit. Do not disappoint me.” Her uncle dismissed her with a wave. Cassandra was hardly a spy; she would be hard pressed to even pretend to be one. But she had learned the gist from Philip. And while she wasn’t a spy, she knew how to organize networks and wield the results effectively.

Her days became filled with building and organizing her spy network. She found the previous spymaster had left many threads untied, and so Cassandra set about to quickly finish them. As information began to trickle in, she wheedled, bribed, persuaded, and even blackmailed nobility and other threats into line. There was nothing that she did not know about her city or its people.

The pressure from her uncle abated somewhat over the few weeks. He seemed pleased with her work and, eventually, her creation ran relatively smoothly without her constant oversight. She was able to sleep again and even managed to spare time for her cousin, who seemed quite offended by her lack of attention. He, undoubtedly, did not know about the task his father had set before her. Still, when she awoke unusually early one morning, Cassandra felt well rested and at ease. She lay in her bed, remembering a time when a monster burst into the rooms and demanded they prepare for training. It is high time I paid the training grounds a visit.

Cassandra dressed in a well worn pair of breeches and tunic and tightly braided her hair into a crown. There was no need for formalities or the wardrobe posturing on the training grounds. She pulled on her favorite boots and tucked the small knife Kurt had given her into its sheath at her side before setting off.

Kurt was running drills with the new guard when she arrived. Cassandra watched for a moment, admiring their precision in the cool morning air. “Captain.” She shielded her eyes from the sun as she approached the ring. “Green Blood,” he returned, brief as normal. “What can I do for you?” It relieved her to see that he was the same as ever. Still strict, still stoic. She wasn’t entirely sure what she would do if she found him radically different.

“I remember a time when you would have had me running for being so late to training.” He took a moment to reply, dismissing his soldiers. They looked relieved that Cassandra had interrupted their drills. Kurt turned to her, arms crossed. “Looks like the lesson didn’t take.” She laughed, holding her hand up in defeat. “You caught me. I have a penchant for sleeping past dawn. Forgive me!” Kurt scowled. “Again, Green Blood, what can I do for you?” Cassandra tsked at him, disappointed that he refused to rise to the banter. Or missed its cues. Always hard to tell with him.

“Can’t a former student pay respect to her teacher?” Kurt continued to look unamused. “No? Oh, very well then. I came to see if you would spar. I could use the practice.” The master of arms eyed her suspiciously. “I swear,” Cassandra continued, “I didn’t come here to harass you or your guards. I can come back later if you prefer.” Kurt sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “No, Green Blood. Now will be fine.” He picked up a blunted longsword and hefted it over his shoulder. He beckoned for her to enter the arena. Cassandra smiled at him and hopped the wooden railing. Kurt watched her for a moment. “Green Blood...a weapon? Surely it hasn’t been that long since you last practiced.”

Cassandra fell into a defensive stance. “I’m ready,” she said simply. She could see the exasperation on Kurt’s face. “And don’t even say anything about my stance,” Cassandra snapped before he could say anything. “I know what I’m about.” Kurt had the decency to not roll his eyes, although she was fairly certain he wanted too. “Alright, if that’s what you want.” She nodded, taking a deep breath to still her mind and access her magic.

Kurt swung half-heartedly, not entirely convinced Cassandra could handle it. It was his mistake. In a moment, she slipped into the shadows as easily as a fish swims in water and reappeared behind him. If he was surprised, the master of arms didn’t show it. Instead, he fell into his ingrained habits. Kurt spun around, suspecting that’s where the next strike would come from. He brought the longsword about with such ferocity that she was momentarily taken aback. But not so much so that she couldn’t swat the blade away with a shadow clad hand. “Ah,” Kurt said, finally acknowledging his surprise. She smirked at him before fading into the shadows again.

She reappeared some distance away, far enough to be out of Kurt’s reach. He scowled at her. They both knew he’d have to somehow close the gap if he hoped to successfully land a blow. All Cassandra had to do was keep him at bay. They stared at each other. Trying to discern each other’s next moves. Finally, Kurt lunged, feinting a low swing. Cassandra read the move and shuffled safely out of reach. In the next moment though, Kurt somehow managed to close the gap. For a man of his size, he moved incredibly fast. Within seconds he was in Cassandra’s guard.

A grim determination settled over her. Cassandra was determined to prove to her former mentor that she had grown over those four years. She dodged again and drew more magic from her reserves. With an adept touch, Cassandra threw a stasis spell over Kurt. It wasn’t a particularly strong one, she wasn’t trying to stop his heart after all; it was just enough to give her the time to pry the longsword from his hands. She took the heavy weapon and tossed it outside the ring. Kurt would be forced to continue with hand-to-hand techniques while she had the advantage of magic.

Or so she thought. Cassandra must have misjudged the amount of magic needed to hold the master of arms. That, or he had an incredible resistance to magic. Regardless, when she turned around, Kurt had already hurled himself at her. Cassandra didn’t even have the time to phase out of reach before she found herself face up in the soft dirt, her former mentor pinning her down. “Nice try Green Blood,” he panted. “Yield.” Kurt had her well pinned, and unless there was some miracle, he was far too heavy for her to move. She could have just shadow blasted him away, but, again, she wasn’t trying to kill the man. Cassandra’s mind raced, searching for that miracle.

She squirmed beneath him, trying to position her feet just so. “I...will….not,” she grunted. And there it was. The miracle. Her master of arms seemed off put and distracted. Cassandra had a few ideas as to what could be going on in the captain’s mind, but she didn’t waste time. Kurt’s uncharacteristic distraction was all she needed. With a heave, Cassandra finally managed to pull her feet to the ground. With all of her strength, she pushed away from the ground, angling her pelvis upward. At the same time, she swept her arms outward. The movement, combined with his distraction, caused Kurt to lose his balance and topple forward as soon as his arms were swept from under him. Cassandra used the momentum to finish flipping him over.

The roles had reversed. Cassandra was now astride Kurt; she tightened her thighs to prevent him from dislodging her. In the next moment, she pulled the small blade from her boot and held it lightly against her mentor’s neck. The window for her to succeed was too small for her to contemplate any other way forward. He glanced at the knife and then back to Cassandra, recognition flickering in his eyes. “Just in case,” Cassandra explained. “Yield?” Kurt looked a bit proud and genuinely stunned. They sat there for a moment, panting and entangled. Finally, Kurt tapped her thigh. He was too proud to say ‘yield,’ but he knew when a match was over.

Cassandra resheathed the knife and rolled off Kurt only to lay in the dirt beside him. It hadn’t been an especially long match, but the amount of energy she put into it left her pleasantly exhausted. It felt as if she had finally managed to work off some of the stress that her new roles had given her. They lay there in companionable silence. Kurt was not much for words or praise, but Cassandra could feel his satisfaction. No doubt pleased that his former student had managed to do so well for herself.

Finally, Cassandra heaved herself up from the ground. Sweat and dirt clung to her skin and shirt. “Thank you Captain,” she said cheerfully. “We’ll have to do this again sometime.” Kurt sat up. “If that’s what you want.” He wasn’t her mentor anymore; he didn’t have the authority to force her to train. “It is,” she responded simply. They watched each other for a moment more. “Well, I must be off. Duties call.” She hopped out of the ring. “Next time I’ll use a sword. Maybe then you’ll stand a chance!” Cassandra waved smugly as she left the stunned captain sitting in the ring. _Oh, indeed_ she thought. _This will become a daily occurrence if I have anything to say about it._


	5. Per Noctem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt discovers a secret about the elusive Lady de Sardet.

For the past three weeks, de Sardet had harassed him. There was no other way to look at it. She materialized out of thin air to lob a shadow missile at him only to disappear in a flamboyant puff of smoke. Or she’d sneak up on him in the armory just to deliver a sharp jab to his side before skittering off. Kurt wasn’t entirely sure what occurred during her four years away, but de Sardet’s fighting skills had vastly improved. It seemed like she had every intention of testing her former mentor now that she had acquired them. Her wry laugh and delighted smirks only confirmed Kurt’s thoughts.

Never one to back down, Kurt rose to de Sardet’s challenges. She had caught him by surprise only a handful of times, and he intended to keep it that way. He had learned she preferred early mornings, although she cared little for if it was a drill session or not. Kurt remained constantly alert though; he wouldn’t put it past her to ambush him in the evening to spite him. As much as he grumbled about her antics, Kurt found that he secretly enjoyed it. He hadn’t realized how monotonous life had become until she returned. It felt good to practice skills he hadn’t used since he was a fresh mercenary, like stretching ill used muscles. If anybody asked though, he simply bemoaned how exasperating the lady could be.

And then de Sardet did not attempt an ambush one day. Nor the next. Kurt instantly fell into high alert. What was she planning? His suspicions mounted by midweek when she still had not made an appearance. He was tense all day, muscles bunched and ready to respond to the attack that never arrived. It was more taxing than Kurt cared to admit, and by the end of the evening he was irritable and snappish towards his guards. He caught the looks they shot each other; they weren’t bold enough to say anything while he was present but no doubt there would be gossip in the barracks later. Kurt ignored them. _Two can_ _play this game_ , he thought grumpily as he headed to his small room. _Just you wait, Green Blood._

The next morning Kurt woke earlier than usual. If he planned to turn the tide, he needed to be in the de Sardet wing of the palace before too many servants woke. And obviously before de Sardet herself was awake. Kurt left the familiarity of the training grounds and began to creep through the palace. It was hard not to feel conspicuous in his well worn gambeson and boots; luckily, most of the palace was still asleep and the few servants who were awake didn’t spare Kurt a second glance.

It took him a moment to find the wide mahogany doors to de Sardet’s rooms. He was familiar with the palace layout, but it wasn’t as if he had had reason to be at de Sardet’s door. Kurt paused; there would be no turning back once he pushed those doors open. How would it look for the master of arms to be caught sneaking into a noble lady’s private chambers. And not just any noble lady but the niece of his employer no less. If he was caught, it wouldn’t be just his job on the line. His hand rested on the cool knob. Was this worth it? When was the last time he had done something for his own enjoyment? And more importantly, why did he find amusement in something that was clearly against protocol and the scope of his job?

He was caught in his thoughts too long. Kurt heard the clatter of buckets down the hallway: the maids. They’d catch him here if he did nothing. He silently opened the door and slid into de Sardet’s rooms, cursing under his breath. Instantly, he regretted his split second decision. He was acting like a young boy, not the well seasoned soldier he was. He’d wait a few moments and then slip back to the training grounds before de Sardet even knew he was there. But it seemed luck was not on his side.

“You can leave the tray on the table,” he heard de Sardet say absently from further in the room. He froze, not sure how to proceed. Do the maids usually respond? Kurt tread lightly on the plush carpet, moving into the room. He could at least pretend that he was leaving something to help avoid suspicion.

The morning light softly filled de Sardet’s opulent chamber. It had been years since Kurt had been in the personal chambers of nobility and it wasn’t like he had time to absorb the finery. He noticed it this morning though; perhaps it was because it was a woman’s room and he was nervous that he noticed the gilt filigree on the walls and the richly carved furniture. And de Sardet, sitting at her paper strewn desk with her back to him. Her long black hair hung in loose waves, absorbing the morning light like it was night itself. Kurt felt as if he was witnessing something he wasn’t meant to, a private moment. He cleared his throat.

De Sardet turned, her lips pulling into a surprised ‘o.’ “Kurt,” she said, doing an excellent job of hiding the surprise that had swept across her face. “You are not who I was expecting.” She stood and stepped away from her chair. Kurt couldn’t help but note de Sardet’s state of undress.  
The morning robe she wore was so sheer that her olive skin gleamed beneath its fabric, and it was too loosely tied, revealing more of her chest than was proper in any situation. Kurt couldn’t stop the cursory sweep over her body. There was no way de Sardet did not see it. She moved her hand to the back of her chair, not bothering to adjust her robe. Instead she smiled at him like the cat that got the cream. “What can I do for you, Captain?” she teased lightly.

He scrambled for words while he tried to look anywhere but at de Sardet. He took in the perfectly made bed and felt himself flush, as if just looking at it was suggesting something. His eyes cut back to de Sardet. As he looked at her again, he noticed the dark circles under her eyes and exhaustion on her face. “Green Blood,” he started. “When was the last time you slept?” She looked at the bed, her face blank. Kurt could see her mind working. She sighed and pushed her hair back from her face. “For more than an hour or so? Maybe last week?” Kurt felt a scowl settle on his face. “Green blood,” he repeated with a warning in his voice. She shrugged. “I’ve been busy.” Kurt was torn between lecturing her on the dangers of sleep deprivation or coercing her to go to bed; whatever kept her busy was of little concern to him.

Kurt opted for the lecture and he opened his mouth to deliver it when the sound of a turning door knob stopped him. Instantly, he froze as a sense of dread settled over him. He was about to be caught in a compromising situation of his own making. And to make matters worse, de Sardet was immensely enjoying his subdued panic. She raised an elegantly arched eyebrow, a sardonic smile on her face. _Fuck, fuck, fuck_ Kurt thought desperately. He searched for a hiding place, anywhere to get away from whomever was entering the room. An armoire seemed to beckon to him, too late though. The maid pushed the breakfast cart into the room and froze when she saw the master of arms.

“I...uhm…” Kurt had never felt more foolish in his life. By all that was holy, what had he been thinking in coming here? De Sardet was at his elbow in an instant as she smoothly interrupted. “Thank you for answering my summons so promptly, Captain.” Her face was decidedly neutral. “Here are the threats I mentioned. They began appearing on my desk a week or so ago. I thought they would stop but they’ve only escalated.” She handed him a stack of folded papers. Kurt tried hard to hide the confusion on his face. “I appreciate your help in this matter, Captain. I have utter faith in your capabilities...and discretion.”

The maid watched them intently, a hint of fear creeping into her face. “Of course,” Kurt nodded and tucked the letters into his pocket. “Will that be all Lady?” “Yes, Captain. I look forward to your reports.” She dismissed him airly, just as any noblewoman should. He turned and marched from the room, catching snippets of her conversation with the maid. “No, no my dear...Of course I trust you…”

Kurt stormed back to the training grounds. De Sardet had slipped into that lie so easily he wondered if he should be worried about it. Not that he wasn’t thankful for her intervention, it just seemed...odd. He didn’t remember her being that way before she was sent away. Then again, he couldn’t really claim to know her especially well. Kurt pushed the thoughts from his mind; he had spent enough time contemplating and it had only seemed to get him in trouble. There were drills to run and duties to attend to. It was best to forget about his misadventure and consider his lesson learned.

And so for the remainder of the day Kurt threw himself into his duties with such vigor that the guardsmen took notice. There were extra drills, new formations, laps, polishing. Anything to keep both the guards and his mind busy. He pushed them until the sun sank below the horizon. Kurt was tempted to run night drills, but he knew the men were exhausted and needed rest. He knew the sort of reputation he had, but he refused to run them into the ground simply for the sake of his own distraction. “Dismissed,” he said gruffly. The platoon sagged in relief before straggling off to the mess. For a brief moment, he contemplated joining them. _No. They are probably tired of me. Bed it is._ He tucked his hands into his pockets. His rough fingers brushed against the papers he had stuffed in there earlier.

Curiosity got the better of him, and Kurt paused on the torch lit path. Carefully, he unfolded the papers. Perhaps de Sardet really was being threatened? But to his relief -- and perhaps a bit of disappointment -- the papers were empty. He crumpled the blank sheets and stuffed them back in his pocket. Best to move on and forget everything that had happened that day. Maybe if he was lucky the maid would keep quiet and there wouldn’t be any gossip in the court. Something fluttered in the corner of his vision, drawing his attention.

Kurt turned and squinted; it looked like a person had ducked around the building and into the night’s gloom. Instantly, he was suspicious. Nobody should be lurking about here, especially at this time. The night guard should have stopped them. He followed. The cloaked figure was ahead of him, making their way towards the guard’s exit. That was even more suspicious. The guards came and went freely when they were off duty; they hardly had the need for such secrecy. And Constantin had stopped sneaking out when he found out Cassandra was returning. He had been more of a servant’s passage sort of person anyway -- less likely to run into Kurt that way.

“Halt!” he ordered. The figure winced and froze, hands already on the door pull. They didn’t move any further though. Kurt approached. “What business do you have here?” Slowly, they turned and looked up at him. Some of the torch light caught beneath their hood, revealing an all too familiar face. “Green Blood?”

De Sardet glared at him. “You were supposed to be in your rooms by now,” she hissed. “What are you doing here?” Cassandra rolled her eyes. “What does it look like, Kurt? I’m going out.” He had never wanted to throttle her quite as badly as he did in that moment. “Yes, but why?” “I have business in the city,” she replied, folding her arms across her chest. Kurt stared hard at her for a moment. “Does the Prince know?” She stilled. He wondered if she’d lie as easily as she had earlier in the day.

“No,” she breathed out a moment later. “This is for something personal.” Her eyes pleaded with him for a moment. He was almost swayed. Almost. “Green Blood. You know the protocol.” “Kurt…” “No. Now wait here.” He jogged to the armory and returned a moment later, longsword on his back. Cassandra scowled at him. “Now, _we_ may go.” She began to protest. “You know I’m capable of taking care of myself…” Kurt stopped her. “Yes, yes of course Green Blood. But I have a job and I’m not about to lose it because you were feeling confident.” “I can’t dissuade you?” “No.” She sulked, but he could see the resignation on her face.

“Very well. Follow me and don’t say anything.” He shrugged. “Easy enough. You should probably ask your cousin about sneaking out though. I’m sure he’ll have more than a few pointers on how to avoid me.” Another glare and groan. “You’re insufferable.” She pulled the door open and together they slipped into the city.

Serene was relatively safe during the day, but Kurt hardly trusted it at night. Thugs and drunkards were prone to wandering about in the darkness. He followed de Sardet closely, occasionally brushing against her and earning yet more glares. She led him deeper into the city, taking twisting side paths and dark alleys until they stumbled into a main thoroughfare. Kurt recognized instantly where they were.

“The Coin Tavern?” he asked incredulously. “Hush.” She pulled her cloak closer and headed towards the tavern. Kurt grabbed her by the shoulder. “Green Blood...a tavern? Really?” Kurt was disappointed; he had expected something better of her, something more than typical nobility. It stung to think that she could be just like her cousin. She shrugged his hand off. “Are you coming or not? I’m late enough without your moral qualms.” He didn’t bother to respond.

Cassandra pushed into the tavern and made her way through the thick crowd. Kurt had frequented the tavern enough in his youth to know exactly where she was headed. He wanted to warn her, question her, maybe even shake her, but de Sardet had chided him enough for the evening. Instead he silently followed her down the stairs into the seedy gambling den.

Men and women sat about in the dim light smoking heavily and shouting their bets. A line had begun to form to the entrance to the arena, anticipation high. Even when he was young, Kurt had never gotten tangled in the gambling business. It was a dangerous pastime full of a nasty lot. Constantin had certainly favored it; no doubt that’s where de Sardet had picked up the bad habit. But she didn’t stop at any of the tables, nor did she join the line to the arena. She waved casually at the bouncer -- who returned the salute -- as she continued towards the back corner of the den.

She pushed her hood back when she reached the man on the stool. “Hugo,” she said cordially. The man grunted. “Yer late.” Cassandra shrugged in mock apology. “What can I say; I couldn’t slip the guard.” The man called Hugo eyed Kurt, no doubt trying to intimidate him. The paunchy man was more equipped to deal with drunkards than a mercenary captain. It was almost laughable. “Is he gonna be trouble?” Cassandra lightly touched a hand to her chest and batted her lashes at the man. “Why Hugo...you’re such a sound judge of character. Surely you can see that the captain is no threat.” She touched his hand delicately. Was she _flirting_? The man puffed up with pride. “Of course not. Go right in. You know where to find the Madame.” She patted Hugo’s cheek as she passed by.

“Really, Green Blood?” “Come now. We all have weapons at our disposal. I’m simply using a few of mine. Didn’t you teach me to utilize them all?” Kurt wanted to argue. _Yes, but not like that_. He drew himself up; he wasn’t her mentor anymore. He couldn’t blame her for using the lessons he gave her. In fact, he should be quite proud that she had learned so well. And yet he couldn’t explain the strange lingering feeling -- regret? jealousy? denial? -- that lurked just beneath the surface.

It was then that the smell of thick perfume and the sound of soft giggles distracted him. “The _brothel_?” Cassandra smirked at him. “I did say it was personal.” He felt a heat creep up his neck. The amusement in her eyes did little to assuage his discomfort. “Cassandra!” The lack of formality served as a welcome distraction. “Helena!” she called back. The two women embraced. “I do apologize for the lateness.” Helena tsked at her. “I suppose that handsome brute is the reason for it?” Kurt felt a flash of embarrassment. “Oh hush now,” Cassandra intervened for the second time that day. “You know it was only a matter of time before I’d be found out.” Helena eyed Kurt appreciatively as she slid her arm into de Sardet’s. “I suppose there are worse people to be found out by.”

The two waltzed away, their heads pressed together like old conspirators. Kurt remained frozen in the small lobby. Was he expected to follow them? Remain here? Would it not be strange if he was there with them? Yet, he had heard that some people preferred such things. De Sardet turned. “Come along, Captain.” _By the Enlightened._ Kurt swallowed hard, sweat springing to his palms. She was one of those people. This would cross so many lines and break so many rules. What are you on about? _You were the one who snuck into her rooms just this morning_ , he reminded himself. _Not for anything like this though!_

Kurt struggled to keep the alarm from his face as he followed the duo into the surprisingly well lit room. He shut the door behind him and kept his eyes pinned to the floor. He assumed it was the right thing to do. There was a rustling of cloth and the sound of settling. “Here you are my dear,” Helena said accompanied by a soft clatter. “Captain, are you quite alright? You look a little pale?” De Sardet asked him, concern tingeing her voice. Kurt hesitantly dragged his eyes from the flower pattern of the carpet.

They were in an office, and the two women were seated at a small table, teacups in hand. They looked the very picture of respectable women. The surprise darted across his face before he could hide it. Helena tittered. “My, you’re a naughty one aren’t you?” He coughed in unease. De Sardet looked between the two of them in confusion. And then he watched as it dawned on her. She turned an alarming shade of pink. Something about her chagrin relaxed him; it was more natural than the unflappableness he had seen. “I apologize,” Cassandra said meekly, leaving Kurt to stumble around for the right response. Helena sipped her tea, clearly enjoying their discomfort. Finally she broke the strained silence.

“Now, now if I wanted to see two love-blind fools bumbling about I would have gone to the gardens.” De Sardet cast her a dangerous scowl. “We have business to attend to Cassandra, and I have an institution to run.” “Of course,” she responded smoothly. “Do you have the papers?” Helena slid a thick stack of papers across the table. “And the girl?” The madame left the room and returned a moment later with a girl no more than ten years old in tow. The girl looked frightened.

De Sardet surveyed the girl for a long time before nodding. She added a few papers to the stack. Helena looked pleased. Kurt watched the exchange in fascination. “Do you know your way to the palace?” De Sardet asked the girl gently. The poor thing could only nod. “Good.” She collected the papers and handed them to her. “Go there first thing in the morning and ask for Claire. Give her these and she’ll handle the rest.” The child looked hopeful. “Really?” she managed to squeak. “Of course dearheart,” Helena answered while stroking her hair. “Now go rest up. You have a big day tomorrow.” The girl scampered off, disappearing into the depths of the brothel.

Cassandra sighed and handed Helena a hefty bag. Kurt heard the distinctive clink of coins. “They’re becoming more frequent, Cassandra.” De Sardet rubbed her face, exhaustion seeping from her pores. “We can’t keep doing this forever.” “I know, I know,” she responded tiredly. “I’m trying.” Helena patted her hand comfortingly. “I have faith that if anybody can accomplish this, it’s you.” She smiled weakly at her. The moment was fleeting. “Now out with the lot of you! There are customers waiting.” Cassandra pulled her hood up and nodded. “Until next time,” she said. She motioned for Kurt to follow, and together they left the tavern.

They silently walked together in the warm night air; soon summer would be upon them, but for now spring tightly gripped Serene. Kurt had many questions for de Sardet. She most likely knew it too, yet she remained silent. It looked as if she was chewing on her thoughts, and if Kurt had learned anything, it was that she did everything in her own time. He slowed his pace to match hers. He whistled tunelessly to himself, the sound bouncing off the cobbles.

“The Malichor is getting worse,” de Sardet finally said. Kurt nodded simply in agreement. “People are dying, and they’re leaving behind families that can barely support themselves.” It was a sad but all too familiar tale across the continent. She stopped in the middle of the street. “Kurt, people are _selling_ their children. To the Coin Guard, the Nauts, workhouses, brothels. Anywhere that will take them. It’s not _right._ ” The passionate conviction in her voice stopped him in the street as well. He turned to look at her. De Sardet stared at him, her gray eyes hard and full of anger. “I know Green Blood. I was one of them.” Her eyes softened. “I...I didn’t know.” Kurt shrugged. He didn’t talk about the past; it wasn’t worth it and he hated the pity. “What’s done is done.” Kurt was relieved to see no pity creep into de Sardet’s eyes, and even more thankful when she didn’t press him for more information.

“I can’t do anything about the Coin Guard or the Nauts,” she explained slowly. “Not now anyway. Maybe in a few years when I have more influence.” Kurt paused. The way de Sardet said it sounded like an unquestionable fact, like she knew the amount of power she’d eventually wield. “For now though, I can help the people of Serene. This is _my_ city, and I refuse to allow this to continue.”

Who was this woman? It couldn’t be the Green Blood he knew. He remembered a shy, quietly determined girl. Not a -- he struggled to find the best description -- bold and daring woman. “Does your uncle know?” “About my nightly escapades? No. About,” she waved her hands towards the city, “all that is going on? Yes. I’ve made sure of it. And I’ve presented a bill with Mr. de Courcillion’s help that would ban such activities.” There was a hint of pride in her voice. “It’s gaining support, but you know how politics are. It will still take a great deal of time for it to receive enough backing for my uncle to even consider it. I cannot sit idly by while the nobility twiddle their thumbs and debate it.”

They resumed walking towards the palace, albeit very slowly. Kurt thought that, aside from her sparring jibes, it was perhaps the most he had ever heard her talk. He found himself drawn in by the intensity of her voice and the sense of justice that hung about her. He wanted to ask questions, to know more. It was an alien feeling for him. “So how did it get here?” He jerked his thumb towards the direction of the tavern. De Sardet chuckled.

“A lot of investigation and work. Helena’s reputation precedes her, and she was not an easy woman to convince. I have discovered she is a staunch ally, though, and I would have no other in this city. She has made it known that she pays the best prices in all of Serene, so many families go to her. She pays the family and then contacts me. There is a process.” There it was again, the hint of pride. “I’m sorry,” de Sardet said. “I’ve gotten carried away; I won’t bore you with the details.” Kurt frowned. Something told him it was important for him to know.” Tell me Green Blood.” She rewarded him with a smile.

“Helena screens them so to speak. There are no set ages we’ve found, and most of the time they are old enough to know what they want. And so Helena gives them options. When they’ve decided, I make it happen.” Kurt raised his eyebrow. “One of the few perks of nobility. I can have them sent or placed anywhere they want, with the proper paperwork and introductions. They can have a chance, a new start.” “And the money?” he asked, remembering the bag she had tossed to Helena before she left. “I give Helena money so she can have the best prices, plus a cut for her, and an additional amount for the child. And then we get them to where they want to be. The palace, a blacksmithery, a farm, wherever. Claire, the handmaid you saw this morning, was one of the first girls we rescued. She now helps settle new children in the palace -- if that’s where they want to be.”

They turned down the alley that would eventually lead them back to the guard’s entrance at the palace. “It is an imperfect system, and hardly ideal, but I couldn’t think of what else to do for them. Nobody in the palace, except for Claire and now you, knows about this,” she concluded in a near whisper. It was a lot of information to process. Kurt didn’t even know where to begin. “Is that why you haven’t been by to spar?” It was a dumb question, but it was the first to come to mind. De Sardet smirked in an all too familiar way. “My, my Captain. I didn’t think you’d miss me quite so much. Is that why you tried to sneak into my room?”

Kurt groaned and rubbed his eyes. “I’d rather forget about that. But yes,” he ground out, “I thought it would be payback if I could ambush you.” She laughed, an actual, honest to God, full throated laugh. None of that strange tittering thing noble women did. Kurt couldn’t help but laugh with her, even if it was at his own expense. “By the Enlightened,” de Sardet said between gasps, “I would have never thought Sir Protocol would ever do something so blaringly against procedure.” She dabbed at her eyes. “You’ve managed to surprise me Kurt.” If he was honest with himself, his behavior that morning had surprised him too. It was out of character, and it alarmed him that he would do something like that.

The levity slowly drained from Cassandr’s face. “But yes,” she finally answered in seriousness, “With summer coming, there will only be more deaths. I think this will keep me far more busy than I had anticipated. I’m not sure how frequently I’ll be able to spar.” Kurt felt a pang of disappointment; yet another surprise for him to dissect later. “And I will not ask you to escort me on my nightly adventures. You have far more important duties to attend too.” He wanted to argue with her, but ultimately he knew that she was right. He could not let his duties slip so he could traipse about the city with her. “You’ll tell me if you need help though? And you’ll stay out of trouble?” She smiled faintly. “Of course, Kurt.”

They had finally arrived back at the palace. Kurt pushed the guard’s door open for her. “Kurt,” she said as she crossed the threshold. “If it’s any consolation, sparring with you has been the highlight of my days.” She didn’t wait for him to respond; she nodded her goodbye and disappeared into the shadows of the training yard, leaving him speechless and alone. _What other secrets does she have?_ Kurt stopped himself. The day had begun poorly and would end poorly if he allowed himself to think too deeply about Cassandra. And so, before he could fully unpack the myriad of complex and confusing thoughts running about his head, Kurt locked them away behind excuses. She was his charge as much as Constantin was, and he had his duty to Prince de Orsay. _Yes, it’s only my_ _duty_ Kurt thought somewhat bitterly. _Only duty._


	6. Fons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An idyllic get away causes a stir for the stoic master of arms.

Much to Kurt’s chagrin, life resumed it’s monotony. Each day followed the same dreary march: morning drills, posted duty, afternoon drills, maintenance, paperwork, posted duty, bed. He had secretly hoped that de Sardet would return to alleviate the tedium, but it seemed she had predicted correctly. With the onset of summer came several large outbreaks of the Malichor. News of the deaths quickly reached the palace, and the funeral byres that burned long and bright into the night could be seen from within the safety of the palace. Anxiety was high and yet the monotony continued, breeding an environment that was all too familiar to Kurt. It was like the feeling before a battle; when things were still calm and tedious, but everybody knew that it could break at any moment. People tried to cling to that sense of calm in the hopes of avoiding the imminent ax swing. Past experience had taught Kurt that it never played out well.

Amidst the apprehension, Kurt began to notice small new faces in the palace. A new groomsman here, a new scullery maid there. Occasionally, de Sardet’s maid made an appearance, checking in on the wards. It pleased Kurt to see that his Green Blood was dedicated to her cause. He just worried that her nightly escapades would expose her to the plague. Only the Enlightened could help her if she caught it. Still, Kurt did not intervene or try to stop her from her excursions. He was quite certain she knew the risks. And ever since his own escapade into the de Sardet wing, Kurt had buckled down on his own behavior. _Stick to your duties and nothing else. It is not your place to be chummy with the nobility. Some lines are not crossed._

“Captain,” a cadet coughed awkwardly. Kurt turned his attention sharply to the young man. “I don’t recall giving you permission to speak,” he barked, startling the cadet into a salute. “Sorry, Sir!” “Glad to see you haven’t forgotten all of your training,” Kurt grumbled under his breath. “It’s just that…” the cadet pressed on. The captain stared at the man incredulously. He must have a death wish. “Just _what_?” Kurt’s voice dropped to a dangerously low level, warning the young boy to watch his step. The cadet simply pointed behind him, panicking. Kurt turned. “This better be important,” Kurt said, his voice promising an untold number of laps for the lad if he had broken rank for something petty.

De Sardet stood in the training yard, arms folded over her chest and obsidian hair spilling loosely down her back. She raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. One of the first lessons Kurt had taught Constantin and her was to not question his orders, especially when it came to soldiering. “Lady de Sardet,” he growled, irritated she had managed to sneak up on him, “what can I do for you?” He noticed that exhaustion still clung to her, but otherwise she seemed well.

She shifted her weight and sighed, annoyance flickering across her face. “Constantin has ordered a picnic.” Kurt waited. Nothing about that explained why she was here. “He’s ordered the picnic to be outside the city. In the forest. In a glade specifically.” Ah. There it was. “And,” de Sardet drawled, her now trademark smirk on her face, “you know the protocol.” The way she used his past words against him rankled Kurt pleasantly. He was tempted to quote her back. You’re insufferable, she had said. But he stopped. _Duty. Boundaries._

“Of course,” he replied simply instead. If she was disappointed he didn’t rise to the bait, she did a good job hiding it. “Who will be going?” “Constantin, Lady Anna, Lady Selene, and myself. It’s a small party; one escort guard will be plenty.” “And when will you need the escort?” “In an hour.” The brusqueness of the conversation felt safe compared to the teasing and sparring competitions. “A guard will be waiting for you at the side gate.” De Sardet eyed him, probing for answers, before she finally nodded and left the yard. Kurt turned towards the offices; he’d have to review the schedule before he assigned a guard. “You’re still here?” The cadet trembled a little. “Yes, Sir.” He sighed. Now the fool took it upon himself to adhere to his training. “Dismissed.”

Within his small office, Kurt surveyed the board. Naturally, there were no guards readily available. Not unless he completely revamped the weekly schedule. “Maybe if I…no. Charles could...no.” It was more of a headache than he thought. The easiest solution would be for himself to go. It would be nice to get out of the palace and away from the city’s foul air. _Duty. Boundaries._ The words thrummed as a constant chant in the back of his brain. “This is duty,” he muttered to himself. “Especially as it’s both Constantin and de Sardet. It’s work, not a day trip.” He willfully ignored the small voice that told him he was creating excuses to validate himself.

An hour later, Kurt, fully armoured and equipped, waited for the party at the gate. He heard their chatter and the sound of the hooves on the cobble before he could see them. Constantin, as he had been since de Sardet’s return, was in high spirits. As the group appeared from around the corner, Kurt could see the boy chatting spiritedly with Lady Anna, although he could not quite make out what he was saying; the lady was enraptured regardless. The moment Constantin saw Kurt though, his face soured and he trailed off. “Ah, Kurt,” he said bitterly. “I thought perhaps we’d have another guard.” Constantin didn’t bother to hide his disappointment. Kurt shrugged. “Couldn’t rearrange their schedules.” It was only natural that the boy harbored acrid feelings towards him, especially after their falling out during de Sardet’s absence. “Very well,” Constantin stated, waving him off. It was apparent that he was done with him and would very likely say nothing else to him for the remainder of the trip. Lady Anna and Lady Selene followed the prince, barely acknowledging Kurt.

De Sardet paused, handing him the reins to a gray destrier. She looked at him questioningly. “Well, I’m glad you could join us, anyway,” she said rather than prying into their tense relationship. Kurt pulled himself easily into the saddle; it had been some time since he had had the opportunity to ride, but he settled into it easily enough. It helped that the animal seemed fairly placid. “Cousin!” Constantin called from up ahead. He motioned wildly at her. “Ah,” Cassandra sighed. “Mother hen calls.” She smiled and spurred her bay into a lazy trot. He watched as she quickly caught up to her cousin and unleashed a punch upon his arm that hurt even him. Her laugh drifted back to him. And then she kicked her horse into a gallop, tearing across the fields to the forest’s edge. Constantin immediately gave chase, leaving the two de Boronois girls behind.

It appeared as if the de Boronois sisters had no intention of speeding after the rest of their party, and so Kurt was forced to choose who to remain with. _Of course_ , Kurt thought mockingly to himself. _Only one guard. I should’ve known better with those two involved._ He opted for the sisters; if worse came to worse he knew de Sardet could deal with it. He just hoped it wouldn’t come to that. They followed after the cousins at a more sedated pace, and in due time they arrived to find the two of them waiting at the edge of the forest.

Forest was perhaps a strong word for it; there hadn’t been mighty forests in Serene for hundreds of years. This was more of a wood, or even a collection of trees. It wasn’t even thick enough to completely shade the floor. Still, it was a quaint place nobles liked to escape to during the summer heat. And that made it a relatively easy target for bandits and the like. Kurt scanned the wood’s edge; it was hard to tell, but if he had to make the call, it looked as if the area had remained relatively undisturbed. There were no indications that there had been activity in the area. He supposed with the Malichor running rampant, not many people had ventured out of the city. This party was, undoubtedly, a group of fools, including himself.

He nodded towards the cousins, indicating that they could proceed. Constantin turned his horse and nudged it down a small deer path. They formed a line, Kurt bringing up the rear and filed down the path. It was noticeably cooler in the dappled shade. It seemed to revive the party, as they began chatting with each other happily. Despite de Sardet’s presence, Kurt felt like it was any other event he had been asked to chaperone. Dull. The nobles hardly acknowledged he was there. He could hardly remember what he had been worried about.

Constantin led them deeper down the path until finally it opened up to the glade de Sardet had mentioned. Kurt admired the area; it really was quite a nice place for a picnic. The sunlight dappling the verdant grass imbued the clearing with an emerald light, and a stream babbled pleasantly into a clear pond. Kurt hadn’t even known this existed. There was an appropriate amount of cooing from the sisters as they dismounted. He noted that de Sardet did not seem especially surprised by the outcome. It was likely that Constantin had shown this spot to his cousin years ago on one of their many adventures.

With surprising efficiency, the party unpacked and set up a blanket for their picnic. They set out several baskets, a few books, and the de Boronois sisters set up an easel and small art station. It seemed they would be in the area for quite a while. Kurt sighed as he hobbled the horses. He supposed there were worse things in the world than watching nobles while away the day. A sudden yell pierced the air. Kurt whirled around, horses forgotten and hand already at the hilt of his longsword.

“Don’t you dare!” Cassandra yelled. Constantin had swept her up and over his shoulder. “Constantin!” she yelled again, kicking against him. It made the young man grin wider. “Oh but fair cousin,” he retorted, “this is only payback for earlier.” And then he tossed her unceremoniously into the pond. Anna and Selene tittered behind their hands at the scene; Kurt merely watched, waiting. The green blood he knew would not allow that to stand.

And she did not disappoint. De Sardet surfaced, a murderous glint in her gray eyes. She struck quickly; it was quite reminiscent of their first sparring match. One moment Constantin stood on the pond’s shore, the next he was spluttering in the clear water beside his cousin. “You should know better,” Cassandra said as she splashed her cousin, who still looked very much surprised. Kurt felt a swell of pride for his green blood, and he couldn’t help but laugh at the expression on Constantin’s face. De Sardet looked at him and winked before she pulled herself from the pond. “Let’s not do that again, hm?” she said as she helped to drag Constantin out of the waters. He scowled at her. “Agreed.”

Kurt finished caring for the horses before he sat a patch of grass not too far from their picnic spread. He knew the routine; don’t sit close enough to make the nobles feel as if they’re being watched, but do sit close enough so that it’s easy to intervene should something go awry. With the excitement over, Anna settled gracefully on the blanket, her sketch pad in hand. Selene took up an embroidery hoop. Kurt nearly snorted. _How predictable of them._ Constantin wandered about the clearing before he opted to sit next to Selene and antagonize her. De Sardet plopped onto the grass beside him, a small grin on her face. She didn’t say anything; rather, she stretched out in the sunlight and opened the book she had brought with her. Kurt tried not to notice the way her damp clothes clung to her soft curves.

He coughed and looked away, focusing on a particularly mossy tree across the way. He listened and watched for anything amiss, but Kurt couldn’t find a single thing. The bird song, burbling creek, and low chatter just made the glade more relaxing. The party sat for some time, simply enjoying each other’s company and the sounds of nature. Before too long, Kurt felt a small nudge against his leg. His head whipped around, his body tense and ready to deal with whatever threat. But it was only de Sardet. “What…” Kurt started but trailed off.

She had fallen asleep in the sunlight. In her moment of relaxation, she had stretched out and brushed against him. Kurt studied her. The furrow between her brows was absent, the worries she carried smoothed away by sleep. A hint of a smirk lingered at the edges of her lips; whatever she dreamt of, it must be pleasant. She looked remarkably innocent, and Kurt reminded himself that in many ways she undoubtedly was. Although he wouldn’t admit it, he had always had a soft spot for his Green Blood. Watching her sleep though, Kurt felt the well concealed soft spot lurch unexpectedly.

Carefully, Kurt eased the book from de Sardet’s hand. He folded the page she had been on without paying much mind to the contents before he tucked it away. With a deep sigh, she shifted a little, falling deeper into her dreams. Kurt would’ve paid a month’s wages to catch even a glimpse of those dreams. Gently, tentatively, he brushed a damp strand of inky hair from her forehead and froze. _Duty. Boundaries._ Mentally he berated himself for the lapse in etiquette. And he cursed de Sardet for managing to provoke such actions from him, even in her sleep.

Kurt snatched his hand back as if he had been burned. He looked around the glade, remembering there were other people present to witness his folly. Contantin and Selene were still enthralled with each other. He nearly sighed in relief until his eyes met Lady Anna’s. She studied him and he knew that she had seen everything. _Excellent. Now all she has to do is tell somebody._

He scowled and looked away, finding the mossy tree he had been so interested in earlier. He refused to look anywhere else for the remainder of the day. Eventually, Constantin woke de Sardet so they could eat. She seemed pleasantly refreshed, and if she noticed Kurt’s sudden harsh brusqueness, she didn’t comment. The party lingered in the clearing until the sun began to set; Kurt had to break up their merrymaking. “We need to be back before the light is gone,” he said harshly. Surprisingly, nobody questioned him and they immediately began to pack their things. He had expected some resistance, especially from Constantin, but even he seemed ready to return to the comforts of the palace.

They managed to return by twilight without incident; they rode into the courtyard and dismounted, the grooms already at their sides. Kurt noticed a young boy scurry to de Sardet’s mount, his face radiating joy. She laughed and ruffled his hair. _Must be one of the lads she’s helped._ Constantin soon intervened though, pulling de Sardet away and towards the palace. Kurt watched after them or a long moment.

“Sir,” a small voice said beside him. Kurt dragged his eyes away from the receding party. “Lady Anna,” he said surprised. She handed him a rolled parchment. “For you,” she smiled softly. He took it, confused. As he did, she grasped his hand firmly. “You are more than worthy of her.” She squeezed his hand before darting after the party. Somewhat bewildered, Kurt unrolled the parchment and nearly dropped it. Lady Anna hadn’t just been watching him. She had drawn him.

More precisely, she had drawn both him and de Sardet at the precise moment he had brushed her forehead. He was alarmed that he had solid evidence of the blunder, but even more so by the look she had drawn on his face. There was still a hardness about the small frown he wore, but his eyes betrayed him. The way he looked at de Sardet in that picture was enough to make him blush. The naked longing and care he saw made him deeply uncomfortable. Kurt rapidly rolled the parchment back up. Lady de Boronois was mistaken. She had read too many of those romance books and was imagining something that wasn’t there. That was it. When he returned to his room, he placed the scroll in a chest and tried to forget about what he had seen.

____________

Years later, in a similarly small and barren room, Kurt found himself digging the parchment out of his trunk. He wasn’t entirely sure why he had kept it all those years, let alone why he brought it with him to New World. Haltingly, he unrolled the parchment to reveal that idyllic scene. He gently brushed his thumb across the image of de Sardet’s face. He hadn’t been willing to accept Lady Anna’s view of him those years ago. But now, years later and thousands of leagues away from the stifling protocols of the palace, Kurt admitted to himself that she had been right. He studied himself in the picture and the feelings he thought he had hidden. Kurt sighed and carefully rolled the parchment back up. He wasn’t quite sure how she had managed it, but Lady Anna had managed to capture the exact moment Kurt had fallen in love with his Green Blood. It had only taken him two and a half years to come to terms with it.


	7. Funus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sudden, tragic accident changes the course of both Kurt and Cassandra's lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You ever work on something and you're not completely satisfied? You salvage the pieces you like, start fresh, scrap it all, try again, still don't like it so try to add things but then you're still unsatisfied so you finally give up and just let it be. 
> 
> Yea. 
> 
> That's this chapter. Sorry about it.

Slowly, the summer months faded away into fall, the fall into winter. Before he realized it, Kurt found himself back in spring. It had been a year since de Sardet and the de Boronois sisters had arrived in Serene; it hardly felt like that time had passed. Perhaps it had helped that he had avoided the nobles since the events in the glade. Lady Anna’s sketch had been an uncomfortable revelation, and Kurt knew that such behavior was not permissible. He became the very paragon of a respectable mercenary. And he recognized the irony in it.

On the off chance a noble wandered into his training yard, he was gruff, bordering on rude. They didn’t stay long, and eventually they simply sent a messenger for their needs. Except for de Sardet. She still appeared from time to time, ready to spar, unflappable as always. The way she watched the yard, watched _him_ , with her fathomless gray eyes nearly drove him to distraction. And so, Kurt dealt with de Sardet the only way he knew how: with a misplaced ire he knew she didn’t deserve. He became abrupt, delegating their sparring sessions to another hapless soldier. “They need practice,” he had told her on a crisp fall morning. He ignored the confused hurt on her face, ignored the way his gut twisted with guilt.

She had said nothing to him about it. Instead, she threw herself into the sparring matches with his trainees, defeating them with an ease he once wouldn’t have thought possible. Each time, her steely eyes sought him out. She still said nothing to him, but she didn’t need to. The tautness in her square jaw and defiance in her eyes said plenty. _Come and get me,_ they always seemed to say. _I dare you._

But eventually, that too faded like the seasons. Now, whenever she arrived in the yard, soldiers clamored for their chance to spar with her. There were wagers and friendly competitions that de Sardet encouraged. The men respected her, and Kurt included himself among them. It was also clear a few felt more than just respect, but de Sardet had the grace to overlook it. She ignored Kurt for the most part, though. Or acknowledged him with a chilly courtesy that rivaled even his usual brusqueness. Kurt unquestioningly accepted that it stung, especially coming from his Green Blood, but he had no one to blame but himself. He had imposed these restrictions, and he would continue to adhere to them, even if it meant destroying yet another relationship. Anything else would be like that old myth -- the one where the boy flew too close to the sun.

So Kurt forced himself to find comfort in the daily rhythms of life; he let the sounds of clanging blunt swords and the thrum of marching lull him into fake contentment. He had accepted this job years ago to escape the uncertainty and fear of the battlefield. To be more stable. He thought he was satisfied...until de Sardet returned and began her games. It brought back the thrill of life, the curiosity and the trepidation. Mentally, Kurt shied away from that train of thought. _I am satisfied,_ he told himself firmly. A wry voice questioned back, _Oh? You are? When did you settle for_ this _?_ He didn’t fail to notice it sounded distinctly like de Sardet. He focused on the sounds of soldiers in the courtyard, overcoming those qualms and chasing them away.

It was a vicious cycle, one that began anew every time de Sardet returned to the training yard. As the spring flowers began to poke through the melting snow, it dawned on Kurt that he was tired of the cycle. He felt like the new spring hatchlings; irritated by his confinement and ready to leave the nest.

_Perhaps it is time to move on…_

He was a soldier at heart. Maybe it was time to return to the Coin Guild proper, back to his roots. Thirty-seven wasn’t too old for that. He mulled it over more and more frequently, worrying at it like a sore tooth. The more he considered, the better it seemed. There would need to be a replacement of course, but that could easily be arranged. Maybe, if he was lucky, everything could be settled by summer and he could be on his way. Fate had very different plans.

News from the east crashed into Serene like a storm whipped wave. Prince de Boronois was dead. Killed in a tragic accident the reports said. His son was set to inherit as soon as the proper customs were followed; the entire d'Orsay court was stunned. Amidst the ravages of the Malichor, it was easy to forget that things like accidents still claimed lives. Kurt didn’t know the prince, but felt sorry nonetheless. Any man who cared for de Sardet as one of his own daughters was to be admired. It was not long after the news arrived that Kurt received a missive, signed by Prince d’Orsay’s hand.

_We leave in two days. Myself, Lord d’Orsay, Lady de Sardet, and the Ladies de Boronois. Prepare the appropriate honor guard. You will, of course, command them._

Kurt sighed, rubbing his stubble as he tucked the letter into his pocket. Of course there’d be an honor guard. Custom and protocol demanded it; it demanded quite a lot in the death of a prince. It was something Kurt had learned when he assumed his role as master of arms. He didn’t expect to actually use it. And two days was hardly enough time to prepare. Kurt summoned his lieutenants. Hastily, they set about preparing the group of thirty men and women for their grueling roles as honor guards.

Two days later, Kurt stood at the head of his guard, decked in gleaming plate armor. He hated the stuff. Stiff, heavy, and impractical. It was more likely to crush you than protect you. And now they would practically be living in their personal hell suits until the funeral was over. At least there was still a spring chill; it would keep them from roasting alive in the armor. Despite his displeasure, Kurt kept his face neutral while he passed the black bands to his guards. They would wear them across the d’Orsay crest on their armor until after the ceremonies. They stood at attention. Nothing could, or would, be amiss.

He saluted crisply as Prince d’Orsay entered the yard followed by a grim faced Constantin. De Sardet walked behind them, gently ushering the sisters towards the carriage. Only a few guards would be riding this trip. Again, custom made its demands. Only black, or close to black, horses. Nothing overly ostentatious. Standards hoisted, but covered with a black band, like the guards’ arms. Anything and everything to demonstrate the d’Orsay court mourned the loss of their ally. A misstep could be seen as a slight. It would be a tense journey, full of nothing except protocol and duty. Two things Kurt was exceptionally good at but presently annoyed with.

Prince d’Orsay dismissed him, and Kurt pulled himself into the saddle of the large black courser. He issued the orders, firm and clear, and the standard bearers foisted the muted crests high into the air. The lieutenants swung into their saddles, calling for formation. The guard snapped to with the satisfying thunder of armor. Kurt allowed himself a moment of pride; these were his men, under his command, and they did him proud. The long hours of laps and drills had paid off. He hoped, distantly, that those efforts were noticed.

The soft click of the shutting carriage door was the signal Kurt was waiting for. “Forward march!”

As one the guard moved forward. Their heavy greaves reverberated across the courtyard, a solemn reminder of their purpose. Travel would be slow, but haste was never a part of the funerary procedure. Nothing could happen until Prince d’Orsay arrived anyway; only a prince could preside over the funeral of another, and as the former Prince de Boronois’s closest ally, that fell to d’Orsay.

They made progress as expected and arrived at the mourning de Boronois court in a fortnight; they received the best welcome possible under the circumstances. Now that Prince d’Orsay had arrived the funeral, and the coronation, would progress rather quickly. No doubt everything was already prepared. Kurt swung from his saddle. “Attention!” he called as the carriage door swung open. The guards turned sharply and saluted at the descending nobles.

“Excellent work Captain,” the Prince drawled. “I’m pleased to see my funds haven’t gone to waste.” Kurt bowed his head in acknowledgement, recognizing the similar father-son acerbity and wondering how de Sardet tolerated either of them. “Ensure that the guard is prepared for tomorrow.” “Of course,” Kurt responded. He knew a dismissal when he heard one.

“Dismissed!” he called. Again, the guards turned sharply before they marched from the courtyard towards the guards’ barracks. They would bunk with the de Boronois honor guard for the evening and follow their lead come the morning. In the meantime, Kurt would need to issue a strict set of orders. He was fairly certain none of his men had served in a royal funeral before; most of them were young. But he had selected those he trusted and knew would adhere to the protocol.

“Men,” Kurt started when they reached the barracks, “Turn in early tonight. We will be up early, and the day will be long. No tavern. No whoring. No gambling. Supper, polish your gear, then bed. In that order. Am I clear?” They yelled in the affirmative and dispersed. Kurt, never one to issue an order he himself wouldn’t follow, headed to his bunk to polish his plate armor and sleep.

He was up well before the sun, awoken by the captain of the de Boronois guard. The ceremony was to be held at a cathedral in the center of the city. The location was well known, and they would need to secure the perimeter early to ensure it was safe for the royal family and guests. After looking at the map, Kurt and the de Boronois captain -- Renauld -- agreed on the locations for posted guards and patrols. Half of the honor guard Prince d’Orsay would be used for this purpose. The other half would escort the body and family and stand watch during the funeral.

By the time the sun had risen, Kurt’s men were in place and he had returned to dress in the ceremonial plate, complete with helmet. The honor guard was to be as united and faceless as possible. It was a tradition Kurt didn’t quite understand, but then again nobody had put him in charge of it. He simply followed the code. Didn’t mean he had to like it though; internally, he grumbled about the stifling helmet as he led the reduced guard to the courtyard. Two carriages, one for the deceased and one for the family, were already waiting. Prince d’Orsay had been delivered to the cathedral by his lieutenant a half hour earlier.

Once in formation, they began the slow march to the cathedral. People gathered in the streets to watch, clutching dark strips of cloth or flowers. The pall in the air was palatable. Kurt had never been in this region of the Congregation before, but it was clear the people of the city had loved their Prince. Enough to risk the heavy crush of the crowd and the threat of Malichor. Some people wept openly; Kurt wondered how the people would react when d’Orsay died. Serene was fairly prosperous and stable, but beyond that Kurt couldn’t even begin to know what the people of the city thought of the royal court.

When the sun had reached its peak, the procession finally reached the cathedral. Kurt and his men collected the ornate casket from the first carriage and hefted it on their shoulders, the weight staggering when combined with the plate. His men did not shift, though. They stood tall and straight, the sun glinting off their armor. Renauld and his men surrounded Lady Anna and Lady Selene and, presumably, the new Prince de Boronois, Philip. Together, they marched down the long nave to the altar.

Prince d’Orsay stood on a small plinth near the altar, dressed in muted burgundy. Only the immediate family was permitted to wear mourning black. All others wore dark or muted colors to honor the family’s grief. Delicately, they set the casket on the altar. The Prince nodded and faced the procession, an indication of where the guard should be. They stepped away from the altar and rounded to create a boundary between the princes and the crowd. Renauld escorted the de Bornois family to the front pew before flanking the aisles. The rest of the attendees would arrive in order of their standing. Which meant Constantin and Cassandra would be the next to enter the cathedral.

Kurt watched for his Green Blood, a familiar, grounding face amidst the sea of unfamiliar. She was not with Constantin though. The boy filed into a pew silently, a dour look on his face. Behind him, Kurt could feel the displeasure radiating from Prince d’Orsay. De Sardet’s absence would most assuredly be noted, especially by the court she had once belonged to. It seemed out of character for her, where...Kurt caught himself before he fell into that familiar trap. _Not my business,_ he chastised himself firmly as he focused his eyes ahead.

The cathedral was nearly filled when a soft murmur rippled through the crowd. The displeasure he had felt from Prince d’Orsay earlier had now turned murderous. Kurt spotted the disturbance as it walked up the aisle. _Fuck._

De Sardet strode up the aisle wearing a well tailored men’s suit. A charcoal suit. The color was so close to black that people whispered behind their hands at the scandal.

_What in the seven hells is she doing?_

He recognized the defiance in her jaw. Whatever she was about to do, it would overshadow the charcoal suit. Unbidden, Kurt remembered how Lucius had described the young girl. A follower, nothing more. This stunt proved otherwise, especially as her cousin looked just as baffled as everybody else.

De Sardet reached the front of the cathedral and slid into the front pew. _Oh fuck,_ Kurt thought as the wrath behind him intensified. Whatever message de Sardet was sending, her uncle had received it and was furious.

Lady Serene and Anna offered a relieved smile, glad she had arrived. The future prince, though, seemed genuinely surprised. He blinked rapidly a few times before he swept de Sardet into a hug. He buried his face in her loose black waves as she squeezed him tightly back. A bewildered hush fell over the cathedral. Kurt watched, fascinated, as they seperated. The prince tucked a strand of hair behind de Sardet’s ear and whispered something to her. She smiled and gently took his hand. After a moment, Philip nodded at d’Orsay, ready to begin. There was a pause, perhaps one too long for decorum, before Prince d’Orsay began his eulogy.

Somehow, de Sardet found Kurt among the faceless soldiers. Her silvery eyes locked onto him, and he thought he saw something flicker behind them. Mirth? Defiance? Pride? She was as fathomless as ever. Throughout the entirety of the service, Kurt found his eyes drifting back to de Sardet. Each time she caught him, her face solemn as the day wore on. He didn’t fail to notice that she did not drop de Boronois’s hand until the ceremony ended and the guards passed by with the casket. She shuffled out of the pew then, allowing Philip and his sisters to follow their father. She joined Constantin when he departed, returning to protocol as much as was possible.

That night, Kurt sat exhausted in the Coin Guard Tavern. The rest of the funeral and burial had gone off without so much as a hair out of place, but by then rumors had already spread. The tavern was all but abuzz with them. Even his own guards speculated. The consensus seemed to be that they were lovers, and had been for sometime. There were bets at the gambling tables that de Boronois would declare their engagement in his coronation speech in two days’ time. The odds were quite astounding.

Kurt sipped his ale, listening to the chatter in the tavern. After the display earlier, he was prone to agree with the gamblers. It seemed likely that there would be engagement. He had always known that de Sardet would marry a noble; it was what they did after all. He just hadn’t expected it to be so soon. She was what, twenty-four? That was young, wasn’t it? Kurt took another sip of ale.

 _Look who’s being a mother hen now,_ he thought sardonically.

He could only imagine how Constantin would behave if, or maybe when, the engagement was announced. Kurt shuddered, recalling his behavior during de Sardet’s absence. He couldn’t bear to be around that again. The idea of rejoining the Coin Guard resurfaced, niggling in the back of his mind. _If it comes to that,_ Kurt thought, _then I will leave._ Feeling satisfied, Kurt ordered another ale. Nothing wrong with a little celebration, right?

The hangover the next morning proved otherwise. Kurt lay in the small bunk, eyes closed against the damned light. His head felt like it was about to explode. How many ales had he had? Why had he allowed himself to have so many? Just because the rest of the city had begun celebrating the new prince’s impending coronation didn’t mean he had to too.

_I’m too old for this shit._

He was in the middle of rebuking himself when a soft voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Captain?” Kurt opened his eye just a sliver. A young guard stood nervously at the foot of the bunk. “You...uh...you have a visitor?” “Is it a question or a statement?” Kurt asked, letting his irritation get the better of him. “A statement,” a distinctly masculine voice declared. The young guard panicked and left the room. If it had been one of his soldiers, that wouldn’t have happened. Kurt sighed and sat up. The room spun wildly before it settled into place. Blinking a few times helped too. After a moment, Kurt stood. “Now,” he said, turning towards his visitor, “what can I…”

Philip de Boronois watched him, an annoying smirk on his face. Kurt nodded hastily. “What can I do for you, sir?” he concluded properly. The man surveyed him for a moment and seemed satisfied. “Cassandra speaks highly of you,” he started. “Claims you were one of the best teachers she ever had. Best fighter too.” De Boronois studied his nails for a moment. “I trust her and she trusts you. So, by extension, I trust you as well.” Kurt remained silent. The man, despite his rather average appearance, was bizarrely cryptic. What could he possibly want with him?

The man sighed. “Things are going to change drastically. Cassandra will be at the center of this change, and I fear she will make many, many enemies.” A pause. “I know she will make many enemies,” he amended. “She needs people she can trust watching her back.” “And that isn’t you?” Kurt asked slowly. De Boronois smiled mischievously. “I think we both know who’d prefer to be watching her back.” It was a well placed barb that rankled Kurt. It became clear where de Sardet had learned that particular skill.

“Point aside,” de Boronois continued, “I will be unable to. It must be you. When the time comes, will you join her?” Kurt stared at the man incredilously. Jump into something blind, with no information? No pay or bribe?

“I’m afraid I’ll need more than that.” De Boronois looked at him sharply. “It’s all you’ll get. You aren’t making a strong case for loyalty here.” Kurt shrugged. “I’m a mercenary.” De Boronois rolled his eyes. “Of course you are, but it's _your_ Green Blood we’re talking about. Your not so secret favorite student.” Kurt did not miss the emphasis on your. Or the jibe and the way he used his endearment for de Sardet against him. “Just tell me you’ll be with her when the time comes,” De Boronois pressed.

The prince watched him with a strange, unsettling intensity. Kurt had the feeling that he would not relent until he agreed. And he would give no more information either. Kurt contemplated it a moment. It _was_ de Sardet they spoke of. After their sparring matches, he knew that she could well take care of herself. But if a Prince of the Merchant Congregation was asking this of him...it truly must be a dangerous situation. Plus he was appealing to his emotions, not wallet -- an interesting choice considering. He thought a moment more. He had been contemplating a change, and he decided on one in fact. This would undoubtedly be a change, and one that he at least knew would be enjoyable since de Sardet was at the helm.

“When the time comes,” Kurt affirmed.

De Boronois breathed a sigh of relief. “Good. That is what I hoped to hear.” He squeezed Kurt’s shoulder, caring little for protocol. Another riddle solved, then. Many of de Sardet’s quirks had been learned here. Kurt reconsidered, again remembering that eight year old girl shimmying up a wall. The quirks were always there, de Boronois had simply encouraged them. What an odd fellow.

The man smiled at him. “My sisters will be pleased to hear this too; Anna was especially adamant that I ask you.” He gave Kurt a knowing look, but did not press any further. “Anyway,” Philip drawled, “I won’t take up any more of your time. I’ll see you at the coronation.” With that, he strode from the room before Kurt had a chance to question him. It had been an odd encounter, but Kurt had learned over the years that most nobles were strange. Once he was sure the man wasn’t about to suddenly burst into the room, Kurt decided some training would help work the last of the alcohol from his system.

Before too long, the coronation day was upon them. Kurt and his men were lucky; protocol for a coronation was wildly different from a funeral. Their presence was not required unless requested, and de Boronois had not requested it. They would be simple spectators if they chose to attend. Many of Kurt’s men had opted out. Kurt would have as well, but de Boronois’s words haunted him. He didn’t know when this mysterious change would happen, but the mercenary in him warned him to be ready. And so he found himself sitting in the back of a cathedral surrounded by more dimwitted nobles than he ever cared to be around.

The d’Orsays and Cassandra were seated far ahead of him, nearly in the front. They had acknowledged his presence, but no more. Social structures and status were immovable and even Prince d’Orsay would not bend it for their master of arms. And it appeared that his Green Blood had every intention of following rules today so she would not aid him. Not that he wanted to be seated that close anyway. A loud blast of trumpets announced the beginning of the ceremony. The soon to be prince strode down the aisle to the throne, resplendent in his emerald robes.

Kurt disinterestedly watched the ceremony. It was a bunch of prattle about leadership and what not; he hardly cared, and as the afternoon wore on, it seemed that the listless nobles were in the same boat. Eventually, the ceremony drew to a close, the man was given the title of Prince, and a cheer rose. Finally, it was over. Now they could move on to the part everybody was most interested in: the coronation speech. It would set the course for the new prince’s reign. And, perhaps more importantly, there was money to be made or lost here.

“Citizens,” Prince de Boronois began, “We suffered a great loss. My father was a great man, kind and wise. I hope to be half as wise as he was.” The audience held their breath, waiting to see what the Prince would say next. “It is tradition for a new Prince to make his first declaration from this pulpit, and I will be no different. My father’s sudden death and Prince d’Orsay’s timely support have shown me the importance of our allies. With the spread of the Malichor, we, as members of the Merchant Congregation, must be more unified than ever before. It is with this in mind that has led me to my first declaration: to strengthen the ties between the courts of de Boronois and d’Orsay.”

There were whispers. Kurt folded his arms, listening intently. It did sound very much as if the man were about to announce an engagement.

“Together, Prince d’Orsay and I plan to strengthen our foothold on the continent and across the world.” He paused dramatically. “In a few months’ time, a delegation, composed of members from both courts, will sail to the island of Teer Fradee. Their purpose is to establish the Merchant Congregation on the island and search for a potential cure for the Malichor. There are still many details to be discussed, but there is one thing we are both in agreement on: who shall represent the Merchant Congregation. A family member and friend to both courts, Lady Cassandra de Sardet will serve as legate to the Congregation.”

Confusion hung heavy in the air. This was not what people had expected. Cassandra herself did not seem surprised by the announcement, though. In fact, Kurt thought he caught a glimpse of a satisfied smile tugging at her lips. She must have been a part of this decision then -- or at least informed of it. Constantin, on the other hand, looked desolate.

“The time has come for us to end the Malichor, to discover new lands, and to strengthen our friendships. With Lady de Sardet at the helm, I know we will not fail. A new season is upon us.” As he concluded his speech, Kurt made eye contact with the man, his words echoing in his mind. “When the time comes,” they had both said. Prince de Boronois stared at him, intensity radiating in his brown eyes. _Ah,_ Kurt thought to himself. He nodded slightly in acknowledgement.

_Well, the time didn’t take too long to get here. I suppose I best start packing._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was always a little dissatisfied with de Sardet as legate. Not because s/he was the legate, just that there wasn't much of an explanation aside from nepotism. I always thought that you'd want somebody capable doing that? Right? Like you could literally have a full blown war if you send a nincompoop to deal with it. I hoped to remedy that at least a little bit (I mean yes nepotism is still a part of it, that's how it worked, but I wanted a little bit more of a firmer background, ya know?). 
> 
> Also, the Merchant Congregation reminds me a lot of Renaissance Italy/Ancient Greece, and so that is how I envision the alliance between Boronois and d'Orsay. City states joining to create something to tackle other places or issues. (ie the congregation in this case). Just in case you wanted that info.


	8. Proditio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the wake of Prince de Boronois' death, Cassandra must deal with a startling discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoo, sorry for the delay with this one. I've been busy writing midterms instead! I hope to return to some kind of schedule soon, but we'll see. Life has a delightful way of interfering. As always, I hope you enjoy this rather late chapter, and I'd love to hear from you 🤗

Cassandra lightly brushed the leather spines of the books in the former de Boronois prince’s study. She had always loved the smell of worn pages, supple leather, and the hint of tea that always lingered in the sunlit corners. Cassandra had spent many nights there, comfortably tucked in a plush chair and debating philosophy with the old prince. She sighed softly when she came across his favorite volume of poetry. He had had none of her uncle’s bitterness or deception, just curiosity and kindness. A truly gentle soul, Cassandra had loved him like a father. He would be deeply missed.

The door quietly clicked closed. Cassandra continued to peruse the books, waiting. “That was quite the show today,” Philip said tiredly. “I’m not much for boasting, but I did say you’d blow them all away. I just didn’t think it’d be like that.” A small smile stole across her face. She took a moment to collect herself before turning to face him, straightening her charcoal jacket. Cassandra desperately wanted to tease Philip, to fall into their easy camaraderie, but she couldn’t. Instead, she mustered every inch of coolness she could find. She pictured the women of the court, aloof and distant in their finery. _Be like them,_ Cassandra reminded herself.

“An accident?” she asked icily. Philip froze for a moment before a hurt look slid onto his face. “Yes.” He responded flatly. Cassandra’s eyes narrowed. When her spies had brought the reports, she had nearly discarded them. She hadn’t believed him to be capable of such a thing. At least, not the Philip she knew. It had only been a year. What could have possibly changed in that time? Or worse, had he always been that way and simply hid it from her? The thought of a betrayal like that cut deeply.

“What game are you playing?” Cassandra asked, watching him warily. She didn’t know this man, didn’t know what he was capable of. “I don’t know what you mean,” he sniffed. “Of course not,” she replied tartly. “Deny it all you want Philip, but I know.” “You know nothing,” he retorted, whirling in anger. “For all your own _machinations_ ,” he spat, “you couldn’t even see what he was doing.”

Cassandra felt a flash of rage. “My _machinations?_ ” She stepped forward, gripping the back of the chair until her knuckles turned white. Is that what he was calling all of her efforts in Serene? Philip watched her, a smug look on his face. She was tempted to smack it right off. A moment passed while she struggled to reign her anger in. This may not be the Philip she recognized, but he still knew how to burrow under her skin. But she could play this game as well as he could.

“I knew exactly what your father was doing,” she said as a wolfish grin crept across her face. Philip paled noticeably. “Afterall, I helped him. It’s what you taught me to do, no? Be useful?” “Cass,” he whispered. “Don’t ‘Cass’ me,” she snapped. “You’re an idiot. Truly. Killing your father? For what? Power? Do you even know what you’ve done?” Her voice trembled with barely restrained anger. Shadows flickered beneath her fingers, tearing into the velveteen of the chair. Philip stared at her, uncertainty in his eyes, and in that moment Cassandra knew more about him than in the entirety of their four years together.

“You didn’t actually know.” It wasn’t a question. “You just needed an excuse.” He stiffened, and mentally Cassandra kicked herself. She considered herself a good judge of character and prided herself on her mental acumen. Hell, she was a spymaster; cunning and wit were, by default, her domain. And yet here she was, surprised by the reports and hurt that he hadn’t even tried to deny it. She’d been taken in by Philip, blinded by her affection. Once, years ago, her uncle had warned her not to trust anybody; they’d only disappoint or betray you. At the time, Cassandra had brushed it away as the comments of a bitter man. Now, though, she wished she had heeded him. At least then she wouldn’t feel the deep pang in her chest. _Never again._

Philip tentatively stepped toward her, his hand outstretched beseechingly. “Cass.” Her magic flared, and she swatted his hand away with a shadow cloaked hand. “No,” she said, chilled formality tingeing her voice. “You do not have the right to address me so informally. I don’t know you, sir.” Philip recoiled so hard it was if she’d actually slapped him. “And as for my _machinations_ , well, I’m afraid your information is wrong. Alas, mine is not.” She fixed Philip with a steely stare. “So, allow me to enlighten you.”

“I’m sure you’ve heard of Teer Fradee. It’s been the talk of the continent for quite some time now. My uncle is especially interested in its resources. Your father, however, was more interested in the prospect of a cure for the Malichor.” She paused a moment to study her nails. “You see, there are rumors that Teer Fradee holds a cure. My uncle and your father had agreed to a joint venture with your father supplying the Nauts, money, and settlers; my uncle: the guards, supplies, and more money. I see nothing worth killing over.”

“No. You lie,” Philip responded. “I’m afraid not,” Cassandra returned smoothly. “Whoever you had spying was really quite bad. It’s almost as if they were a plant.” Realization dawned on Philip’s face. “You?”

“My uncle. You taught me everything I know; I thought you would’ve known.” He sank into a chair. “Philip, you know how the game is played, and yet you saw what you wanted to see and didn’t even question it! You played into my uncle’s hands and stooped to something I didn’t think you were capable of.” He looked at her, pleading. “I thought so highly of you. Trusted you. Loved you.”

“Does your uncle know?” Cassandra drew back. For a moment, she had pitied him. He had fallen prey to her uncle just as many others had. She refused to allow that excuse him for patricide, but she could see the tragedy in it. Yet, even now he only cared about himself and his standing. “No,” she said in disgust. “I at least have a modicum of loyalty.” He sighed. “But it won’t be long before he learns.” Finally, a thought occurred to Philip. “How did you know?” Cassandra looked away. “It’s my job to know.” She would not elaborate, he didn’t deserve it. It was enough though; Philip nodded. “It’s also my job to hide things.”

She looked away, squashing her rising shame. Was she really about to do this? To a former friend and lover no less. A small voice in her head whispered confirmation. _He’s just like the rest. He deserves nothing less._ Philip looked at her hopefully. They both knew the kind of things her uncle could do with that information. “Please,” he begged. “There is a price.” “Anything,” Philip responded, far too hastily. “You will follow your father’s plans for Teer Fradee.” He nodded. “Of course, of course.”

The original deal had been equally beneficial. But that was before she knew what she knew. “There will be a new bargain. You will keep your father’s end. We will gain leadership. My uncle can appoint whomever he chooses to govern the colony.” She smirked. They both knew who that would be. Regardless, her uncle would be less likely to pry if he assumed Cassandra had already weaponized her knowledge in their favor.

Philip grimaced, recognizing the concession. He sighed before hanging his head in agreement. “I’m not done. I will be the legate. And you will make sure it happens.” Cassandra let the words fall, slow and heavy. She ignored Philip’s pained look and the way her heart lurched in response. _Stop that,_ she scolded herself sternly. _Look after yourself for once._ She straightened her spine and stared at Philip imperiously, challenging him to refuse.

He did not. “Very well,” he breathed with a resigned murmur. “May I ask why?” Despite his betrayal, Cassandra found herself wanting to unburden herself to him as she had in the past. He had always known what to say to soothe her heart and mind. She shook herself from her thoughts. “No, you may not,” she returned icily. Perhaps in time she would forgive him for his lies, but today was not that day. It was still too fresh. And maybe one day she would regret blackmailing him, but again, today was not that day. “See it done and my uncle will never know of this. Betray my trust again,” she paused, “and it will be the last thing you do.” Cassandra left the study before he could say anything more. A steely resolve settled over her. _Never again,_ her heart thrummed.

Two days later, she listened stony-faced as the new Prince de Boronois made the announcement. Her uncle radiated smugness beside her while Constantin protectively snatched her hand, a question in his eyes. “Did you know?” he whispered to her as they followed the procession out. She couldn’t lie to her cousin. He might be a thrill seeking flirt, but he could be deceptively discerning when he wanted. Especially when it involved her.

She acknowledged with a small nod. Constantin tensed. “And you didn’t tell me?” He hissed as he smiled and waved at the crowd. “I only learned this morning,” she replied, hoping the white lie would go unnoticed. Her cousin snorted in disgust. “Of course. It’s so like my father to use his favorite pieces without their knowledge.” Cassandra considered pointing out that that tended to be the purpose of pieces, but thought better of it when she saw Constantin’s stormy face. “TinTam,” she soothed, linking her arm through his, “it’s really quite alright. I’m alright. It will all be alright.”

He smiled. “You haven’t called me that in ages Cassie.” He tweaked her nose impishly, ignoring the scowl from his father and the eyes of the crowd. She swatted him on the arm. “If you say it will be alright,” Constantin said, “then it will be. You’re always right about these things, you know.” Cassandra rolled her eyes. “Always so dramatic, cousin.” He laughed and placed his hand on his chest with a flourish. “Not I!” She couldn’t help but giggle at his very obvious theatrics. “Not to change the subject, fair cousin, but you have been quite elusive of late. I think you owe me a chess game...or several,” he amended. “After dinner.” “After dinner,” she agreed, recognizing one of Constantin’s subtle commands.

After three defeats and several choice words, Constantin threw up his hands in defeat. “I don’t recall you being this good at chess,” he said, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. Cassandra shrugged casually. “I was tired of letting you win.” Her cousin gaped at her when she smiled wickedly at him. “We could certainly play a fourth game…” “No!” Constantin interjected before she could continue. “I’ve been soundly defeated; I have no desire for yet another.” He returned her smile, eyes twinkling with mirth. Cassandra knew that look all too well. With a great sigh, she slumped into the chair.

“Who did you woo this time, cousin dear?” Constantin at least had the grace to look offended. He dropped the act when he noticed her glare. Sometimes, Cassandra swore he rivalled his father when it came to deception. She just so happened to know him well enough to spot that telltale twitch about his eyes. “The eyes?” He asked. “The eyes,” she confirmed, a smug look on her face. There would never be a time where she wouldn’t lord it over him.  
“Damn,” he complained. “I thought I had it this time.” She pushed the chess table aside and stood. “You’ll never fool me,” she said blithely. “We’ve known each other too long for that.” Cassandra patted his shoulder in mock sympathy. Constantin snatched her hand before she could slip away. “And yet,” he said with unusual solemnity, “I fear I’ll never know you half as well.” Cassandra squeezed his hand reassuringly. “That’s twice as many as some.”

He rolled his blue eyes at her. “Rest assured cousin, you know me best of all.” She kissed him lightly on the forehead. “And I love you best of all,” she concluded. Constantin seemed comforted. “I love you best of all too,” he responded. She laughed at him. “I know, now give me back my hand. You’ve an appointment to keep.” Cassandra slipped out of his grasp, a smirk on her face. “Have fun, be safe, make good choices. You know the drill.” Constantin threw a small throw cushion at her, which she dodged with ease. She stuck out her tongue as she ducked out the door.

Spending the evening with her cousin had soothed Cassandra’s soul; it reminded her of their youth, when things at least appeared simpler. However, she still couldn’t shake the lurking feelings of hurt and suffocation. The de Boronois palace had once been a haven for her. Not anymore. Logically, she knew that Anna and Selene had nothing to do with their brother’s treachery; they’d be just as gutted as she was if they ever uncovered the truth. That they could still be relied upon. But emotions were hardly logical and her heart still chanted _never again, never again._

She needed to get out, to be somewhere distracting. She stopped by her room only long enough to change into her oversized, well worn sparring clothes. The mark on her face was enough of a give away without the added fineries of nobility. She was likely to be recognized regardless, but there was no need to create more opportunities with an ostentatious outfit. Cassandra tossed on an ill fitting jacket before quietly sneaking into the night.

The city was still very much awake despite the late hour. Cassandra assumed it was ongoing celebrations for the new prince. She snorted to herself before ducking into the Coin Tavern. Inside was twice as rowdy as the streets had been. People sang and talked raucously throughout the building while barmaids filtered busily through the crowd. The atmosphere was celebratory, and it was perfect.

Cassandra managed to snag a mead from the barkeep before she settled at a table towards the corner. She had to squeeze herself between two rather large dock workers, but they were too drunk to mind her sharp jabs and welcomed her to the table with forceful slaps on the back. She laughed at an inane joke they made and let her mind empty. Typically, Cassandra preferred working with her hands to distract herself, but she settled for people watching this evening. She studied everybody in the room, making up stories and scenarios to amuse herself. It certainly distracted her from her own inner turmoil.

She was studying a boy of no more than seventeen when she felt one of the dock men shift beside her. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched an all too familiar figure settle in beside her. The dockman laughed merrily and rejoined the table, forcing Cassandra’s companion to press close to her side. She sighed, mildly disappointed. “I suppose you’re here to bring me back?” She looked up at her master of arms.

Kurt shrugged. “I’m off duty,” he said simply, arms folded across his chest. “Oh, of course,” Cassandra responded knowingly as she took a small sip of the sweet mead. The man never took a day off in his life; he and his job were too intertwined to ever truly separate. Still, she appreciated the white lie and she couldn’t help but grin at him; one had to admire his consistency. Kurt caught her beaming like a fool and he harrumphed grumpily.

They sat in companionable silence for sometime, thighs and shoulders flush against each other. Cassandra had always been thankful for Kurt’s patient silence. He was almost always gruff, but in all their years together he had never tried to pry information from her. He simply waited for her to say her piece. It was why she had been so fond of him when she was younger. Kurt’s calm was the counterbalance to Constantin’s adamant questioning and frequent meddling. She supposed he still was in a way. And so she found herself surprised when Kurt spoke first.

“I remember when I found you in the armory a few years back, worrying away at a piece of armor.” He looked out over people in the tavern, and for once, Kurt seemed relaxed. “Your uncle had just announced you’d be coming here. You were scared, told me you’d never been so far from home.” Cassandra remembered the scene vividly. Kurt hadn’t spared her feelings like her mother or cousin had tried too. He had told her simply and clearly it would be hard; just as he always had. She didn’t know it at the time, but it had been precisely what she had needed to hear.

“You have that same look about you today,” he looked down at her then, and Cassandra couldn’t help the blush that swept across her face. She hadn’t realized he’d been studying her so closely. More than that, she found herself alarmed that he spotted her tells when even her cousin couldn’t. She couldn’t quite bring herself to meet his unnervingly steady gaze. “I thought maybe you’d want some company.” Cassandra’s attention snapped to his face then; he still watched her unwaveringly, no hint of guile in his iron eyes.

She wanted to tell him then of her heartbreak because in that moment, she recognized that’s what Philip had done to her. She wanted to tell him how foolish she felt for trusting him with so much. How tired she was of her uncle’s games and the constant power struggle. How she wanted nothing more than to be free of polite society and it’s stupid rules. That she just wanted to lead her life away from it all. That she was excited to go to Teer Fradee because maybe, just maybe, she could achieve at least one of those dreams.

“I..” she started before her heart’s chant roared back to life. _Never. Again._ Cassandra had trusted Philip once with her thoughts, her feelings. And then he revealed his true colors and she regretted ever giving him those pieces of herself. She had the upper hand for now, but eventually he would use them against her, she was sure of it. It was perhaps unfair of her to assume Kurt would do the same, but in her hurt Cassandra was unwilling to take yet another leap of faith.

“I didn’t realize you cared,” she said instead. “You haven’t exactly been the most welcoming.” Cassandra forced a hint of levity into her voice. Kurt winced unexpectedly, as if he had hit a nerve. “Sorry.” He didn’t try to explain, just accepted it and owned the consequences. Cassandra eyed him suspiciously for a moment before bumping his elbow. “How sorry?” she asked, pleased to see a hint of annoyance on his usually stoic face. “Sorry enough to spar again?” She could see him mull it over, conflict on his handsome face. “I promise no more ambushes,” Cassandra said. “It’s just not the same sparring with soldiers.”

Kurt leveled her with a stare so intense, she felt her stomach flip. The man was normally an open book, easy to read, but Cassandra found herself at a loss. She watched him, looking for some kind of clue, a meaning behind the intensity of his gaze. After a moment, she saw him soften slightly, a faint smirk tugging his lips upward. “It would be an honor.” Cassandra’s stomach flipped the other way and she felt her heart lurch unexpectedly. “Great,” she responded faintly. Kurt cast her an odd look; clearly he had expected a snarky comment, but she was too distracted to truly notice. Her heart had righted itself and it thrummed just a little differently now. _Never again, never again, never again,_ it still beat, but small, hidden beneath the heavier rhythm, there was an addition. _But maybe…_


	9. Monstrum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt second guesses himself as he prepares to embark for Tir Fradi.

The months leading up to de Sardet’s departure passed surprisingly quickly. With the added preparations, Kurt hardly had time to track the days. Upon their return to Serene, he had spent many days wondering how he would be able to uphold Prince de Boronois’s promise. The man had offered no plans, no payment. Kurt considered himself an honorable man despite his mercenary background. He had always been one to abide by a code of ethics, to keep his word, to adhere to some sort of justice. But he did need some kind of income. Quality weapons and armor didn’t pay for themselves, nor did the ale at the tavern. Perhaps he had been too hasty in his agreement.

Kurt should not have worried. Shortly after their return to Serene, he was summoned to Prince d’Orsay’s private study. De Sardet greeted him with a self satisfied smirk. _Of course she knows what’s going on,_ he thought irritably to himself. Kurt was almost positive she’d be able to tell him, quite happily at that, what his men had ordered at the tavern the night before and which women they had frequented. _Is there anything she doesn’t know?_

While her seemingly limitless knowledge was infuriating, there was a small part of Kurt that was glad to see something other than the morose stare she had worn since the funeral. He wasn’t sure what had happened; all he knew was that he had found her sitting in the Coin Tavern looking as lost as she had all those years ago in the armory. He had felt himself drawn to her, not out of duty, but out of some new feeling he couldn’t quite place. Kurt hadn’t considered it too deeply, nor did he linger on how easily he acquiesced to her demands. Doing that would require him to reflect on entirely alien emotions he’d much rather leave dormant.

Prince d’Orsay slid into his office, drawing Kurt’s attention as he settled into his plush chair with an unceremonious nod. He shuffled through a stack of papers, sorting a few out before passing them to de Sardet at his shoulder. She took them silently. Kurt stood at attention, waiting on the whims of his employer. Finally, the prince paused on a sheet of paper. He flipped through the following pages, and, satisfied, slid them across the desk towards Kurt.

“I’m sure you’re well aware of the expedition to Teer Fradee by now,” the prince drawled characteristically. “Thanks to Cassandra’s dedication, I’ve been able to appoint the governor of our little settlement. Naturally, Constantin will go.”

In typical fashion, the prince didn’t bother to spare an upward glance. Instead, Kurt was left to seek out the only other person in the room; his eyes locked on de Sardet’s. He could see the mirth flickering just beneath the steel.

“Of course, Sir,” Kurt responded slowly. While he wasn’t sure why he had been summoned, the master of arms knew better than to say anything. The prince would explain in his own time. And luckily, d’Orsay was not one for stalling with flowery language.

“With both of your charges grown and the guard well trained, I find that I’m no longer in need of your service. My idiot son, however, is.”

“Sir?”

The prince pinched the bridge of his nose and lazily tossed an errant sheet of paper. “Constantin will undoubtedly make many enemies as governor; we all know he’s not the most _adept_ statesman. I’m hoping this experience will provide him with the necessary experience. Assuming he survives. Which is why you are here.”

The prince waved at the documents he had pushed towards Kurt earlier.

“You’ll find a new contract there. I’ve already discussed terms with the Coin Guard, and Cassandra assures me that you’ll find these terms agreeable.”

Kurt’s eyes cut back towards the noblewoman. She winked at him, and Kurt forced himself to suppress an exasperated groan. Hesitantly, he collected the pages. He wasn’t entirely sure if he trusted his former pupil’s mischievous grin. Kurt skimmed over the contents and picked out the important bit: the numbers. It was an astounding sum; far more than he made as a master of arms. He fought to control the surprise that wormed across his face. Based on de Sardet’s smug look, he had not completely succeeded.

“So,” he ventured, “this is to just...protect Constantin?” Kurt needed the clarity, especially since the Prince seemed intent on paying an astronomical fee for something so simple.

“Yes,” d’Orsay retorted, irritated by Kurt’s apparent lack of understanding. “And to a lesser extent Cassandra, but my niece has proven she is quite capable. Surely the two of you will be able to keep my son alive and out of too much trouble.”

Briefly, Kurt recalled the time when de Sardet had been absent from court. He wasn’t sure if he could handle more of the boy’s wild abandon and entitlement. Or if the boy could handle more of his guardianship. They had both chafed during that period and were still quite wary of each other, if not outright hostile. But, the prince did include his Green Blood in the mix. She had always tempered her cousin with an abnormal efficiency. And this solved the dilemma caused by the de Boronois prince. _Almost like he knew this would happen._

“Once you leave Serene, you will be in my son’s employ. Make no mistake Captain,” the Prince warned, “he gives he orders, but I pay for the services. Keep that in mind.” With a wave, Kurt was dismissed.

Of course there would be no discussion of terms. The prince knew he offered the best deal, and he simply wouldn’t accept a refusal. Besides, if the Coin Guard had already seen this contract, then the whole process had been an informality. The arrangement had been agreed upon and sealed before Kurt was even aware of its existence. Regardless, it served his purposes as well as the prince’s. He supposed all that was left to do was prepare for the impending voyage.

All too soon it was time to depart. Kurt had been diligent in his preparations, ensuring the new captain was well adapted and his former guards were in order. Naturally, a small contingent would travel with them, and so they had to be replaced with men Kurt deemed acceptable.

During that time, de Sardet was suspiciously absent. She had managed to elicit more sparring sessions from the captain, and Kurt had half expected her to arrive at an inopportune moment just as she had previously. When she did not, Kurt attributed it to her own preparations. He rejected any other possibilities, cringing at the memory of the last time his curiosity got the better of him.

Still, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief when he saw her descend the grand stairs into the courtyard. She looked trim and sleek in her emerald traveling coat with her inky hair swept beneath a broad brimmed hat and a small, lopsided smile on her face. If she noticed the sudden shift in attention, she did not show it. “Captain,” she greeted him, voice tinged with excitement.

“Green Blood,” he returned, nodding slightly. “Are you sure you’re ready? I’m afraid you might have forgotten how to fight. You haven’t sparred in months.” He couldn’t resist the small jab. To his satisfaction, a small flush crept across her high cheekbones. She sniffed and tilted her chin upwards in mock disdain.

“I can handle myself, sir. And I can most certainly… _handle_ ...you too.” A wicked gleam snuck into her eyes. Embarrassed, Kurt coughed and looked away, conceding a point to the young woman.

“We have to collect Constantin,” she said, thankfully changing the subject.

“Lost in his cups, is he?”

De Sardet shrugged. “Something like that. Although, nobody has seen or heard from him since yesterday morning.” She rubbed her forehead worryingly. “You know how he is Captain. _Somebody_ should have spotted him. He’s not exactly the most restrained individual.”

Kurt grunted in agreement. The boy was positively flamboyant; he should have been easy to track. That he had slipped his guard was concerning enough. That they couldn’t find them...well that spoke volumes. They all had had Constantin duty at some point in their career. His usual tricks and haunts were well known throughout the guard, and the boy never remained hidden for long. He could always be found in his favorite tavern with a tankard in hand, a courtesan at his side, and a sheepish grin plastered on his face.

“You think something’s happened to him,” Kurt said slowly as he adjusted his scabbard straps.

He watched a series of emotions flicker across his green blood’s face before she fell into a careful neutrality. “Most likely. We set sail in a few hours, and he was quite excited to embark. It’s not like him to miss something of this import.”

His eyebrow shot up in skepticism. Kurt would argue the opposite. The boy had a tendency to miss important events, particularly if he knew it would displease his father. And he was fairly certain nothing would anger the Prince more than his son missing his ship to Teer Fradee. It wasn’t his place to say that though, and so he remained silent. Afterall, nobody knew Constantin quite like his cousin.

“We’ll have to find him,” de Sardet pressed. “Soon.” “At your command Excellency.” She shot him an odd look, as if she wasn’t quite used to him using titles. “Ah, another thing,” Kurt started, remembering one last assignment he’d been tasked. “If we have time, there’s some Coin Guard merchandise that needs to be acquired. There’s been some problems with the vendor. Mayhap the new legate would have better luck?”

Mirth tugged her lips into a lopsided grin. “Of course Captain,” she declared with just a hint of excessive magnanimity. He rolled his eyes, glad his hat hid the expression. Without a doubt, de Sardet wouldn’t let him forget this. Never out of spite, of course, but more out of her wry sense of humor. Kurt could already hear her mocking him. “Do you recall…” she’d start before teasing him with some clever jab. It was a small price to pay, but it was one he’d gladly offer.

Together, the two of them set off into the city. They worked efficiently, and before too long, de Sardet had uncovered a lead to her cousin’s whereabouts and harangued the vendor into releasing the Coin Guard’s merchandise. In an odd turn of events, she had even found the cabin boy the Naut captain had asked after and somehow managed to smuggle the Guard’s goods onto the ship. Kurt found it hard to not feel a sense of pride. That was _his_ green blood; he had trained her and she had fully grown into herself. How could he not be proud?

As if sensing his thoughts, she turned to look at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” he retorted a little too hastily. She stared at him flatly, clearly not believing him. “That was a kind thing you did for the Naut boy.” He changed the subject. Her uncanny gaze discomforted him. It was like she could read his thoughts, and Kurt most assuredly wished for those to remain private. De Sardet took the bait, whether unknowingly or out of graciousness he wasn’t sure. She shrugged. “It was the right thing to do.” She said it so simply, as if there were no other options. Perhaps for her there weren’t. He grunted in response.

“Now, on to rescuing Constantin!”

They found the boy chained up in a partially abandoned warehouse. “Green blood,” Kurt cautioned. She stopped. “Lots of guards up there.” He nodded towards the warehouse entrance. He could see at least three, but knew that there would be more in the courtyard. One didn’t leave their valuable prisoners unguarded. “You planning on fighting through all of them?”

“It wouldn’t be just me,” she pointed out. Kurt sighed. “Obviously, but are you sure? Seems a bit extreme.” She sighed in indignation. “Captain, honestly. Do you take me for a bloodthirsty fiend?” She tsked at him. “To think! You were my mentor for so many years. I would have expected you to know me at least an ounce better.” The legate looked at him with a wounded look on her face, and for a moment Kurt felt a stab of panic. Had he truly hurt her? It certainly hadn’t been his intention. But then he caught an all too familiar gleam in her eye.

“Damn you,” he grumbled. She chuckled. “Sorry Captain, I couldn’t resist. You are _such_ an easy target. But no, we don’t have the time to fight them all. I spotted a back alley that I think we can sneak down.” She jerked her thumb towards the dimly lit path before disappearing down it herself. Kurt trailed after her, somewhat surprised that they were able to easily sneak into the thugs’ hideout. _Not professionals then,_ he thought to himself. When de Sardet found the keys and Constantin’s clothes in the room next to where he was being held, it only reaffirmed Kurt’s opinion of the whole operation. At least the boy hadn’t entangled himself in anything too serious.

Once they had cleared the warehouse, Constantin began chatting excitedly with his cousin. Kurt only listened with half an ear; now that his charge was back in hand, he had a job to do. He listened for any potential threats that might spring from the city. But their trip to the shipyard was uneventful. De Sardet made the appropriate introductions to the Naut captain before he became an unfortunate victim of Constantin’s chatter. The man -- Vasco if he remembered correctly -- looked as unimpressed as Kurt felt. Naturally, Constantin paid him no mind and pressed onward with his excitement.

They approached the ships, Contantin growing more excited by the minute. As they got closer, a large commotion broke out on one of the ships. Kurt couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he could feel the alarm in the air. He had been a mercenary long enough to know that whatever it was, it wasn’t good. His hand reached slowly towards the hilt of his sword; he had paused in the yard, looking for what might have set everyone on edge. Constantin and de Sardet walked several steps ahead with Vasco. Kurt was about to call out to them when the world suddenly exploded.

Chunks of flotsam flew dangerously past Kurt’s head, and men’s sudden screams rent the air. “Fuck,” Kurt breathed when he caught sight of the monstrous creature. He’d never seen -- or smelled -- anything like it. The stench of rot was overwhelming, and the creature, which was easily twice the size of a ship, bellowed menacingly. He wondered briefly how they managed to even fit it into the hold before he recalled his duty.

De Sardet was already turning toward her cousin, a wild look in her eyes. Kurt ran towards them, but it was too late. The monster had already caught sight of them. It turned, the earth shaking beneath its cloven hooves.

Constantin remained frozen, staring at the creature in horror. De Sardet, however, wasted no time. She hauled him from the ground and threw him towards Vasco. “Excellency!” Kurt called, but it was lost amidst the creature’s roar. “Protect the governor!” she commanded. Vasco dragged the boy towards the mercenary. “Come on!” He shouted. “You heard the legate!” Contantin had regained his senses and struggled against the sea captain. “Cassandra!” She had turned to face the creature, an ant against a lion.

There was bravery, and then there was stupidity. And this was definitely stupidity. There was no way de Sardet could stand against the creature alone. Surely she had a plan? Kurt had never been one for prayers, but in that moment he whispered the closest thing he could think of. _Let her be safe. Let her live._

“...your...s…” Kurt could only faintly hear what she had said. Despite his fears, he didn’t stop and continued to pull Constantin to safety. Duty first. She would repeat the command if it was necessary. The air began to thrum unnaturally, a metallic tang accompanying it. Once Kurt deemed them far enough away to be safe -- as safe as could be expected in the circumstances -- he turned towards the impromptu battle field.

De Sardet’s voice drifted towards them. “Close your eyes!” The command was forceful, and Kurt realized she had used her magic to throw it to them. She had slowly begun to lift from the ground, shadows whipping angrily around her. It was a terrifying display of her abilities, the type of scene that was almost impossible to tear one’s eyes from. But he was a soldier first and foremost. Orders weren’t questioned. Ever. He closed his eyes. A moment later, the world lit up. Even with his eyes closed, the light was intense and nearly blinding. The creature howled in pain.

Kurt opened his eyes as soon as the after images on his eyelids disappeared. The monster had fallen to its knees and scrambled blindly in the shipyard, growling in pain. He searched rapidly for de Sardet, but she was nowhere to be seen. Suddenly, she materialized in a cloud of shadow on the creature’s bent leg. It felt her and swiped angrily, but she disappeared in yet another cloud only to reappear on its arm. Kurt was familiar with this particular maneuver, but he’d never seen it used so deftly. Constantin stood slack jawed beside him as he stared on.

Finally, de Sardet made her way to the back of the creature’s neck. Kurt could just barely make out the grim determination in the way she clutched at the creature. There was a glitter of steel in the sun and then the monster screamed, swinging wildly at its eye. De Sardet clung tightly and shifted, twisting slightly. The behemoth screamed again, this time more weakly. It began to sway dangerously. It tried one last time to dislodge de Sardet but to no avail. With a huff it collapsed, wriggling slightly. Eventually, it stilled. Only when Kurt was certain beyond a doubt that it was dead did they move towards the decimated yard.

Vasco let out a low whistle. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said as they approached. The monstrosity lay sprawled across the ground, de Sardet perched on its shoulder. She looked as perfectly coiffed as she had earlier that morning; the absence of her hat was the only indication that she had been involved in a battle. She smiled at them with aplomb, as if she felled giants regularly.

“Are you hurt Green Blood?” Kurt asked before her cousin could begin his chatter. He still seemed to be in shock. For once, the mercenary couldn’t blame him. He had just witnessed his cousin, somebody he thought he knew, take down a beast with a deadly display of magic. Kurt would bet that he had no idea just how talented his Green Blood was.

She slid from the creature and walked towards them. On her way, she collected her hat and dusted it off. She put it on with the same nonchalance as they had found her with. “I’m well,” she answered, although Kurt thought he detected just a hint of tiredness in her voice. “And you all?”

By now, Constantin had once again regained his wits. “What in the seven hells was that?”

Vasco shifted uncomfortably. “One of the creatures from Teer Fradee. I never wanted to transfer that thing in the first place. I told the Alliance their stupid potions wouldn’t work.”

That seemed to draw the young governor’s attention. Instantly, he began peppering the Naut with questions about the island. He attempted to walk off, but Constantin would have none of it. He followed after the man relentlessly, leaving Kurt alone with de Sardet.

They stood silently for a few moments, and Kurt swore he could feel the fatigue rolling off the legate. “Green Blood,” he started, his voice betraying him with a sudden tenderness. He realized his mistake instantly.

She looked at him sharply. “Captain, it sounds like you’ve gone soft.”

Kurt snorted, using it as a distraction. Within seconds, he had rebuilt his walls and locked away the hints of concern that had tried to escape. “Hardly. Make sure you clean your weapon or I’ll have you running laps on the deck.” He stalked off after Constantin and Vasco, not waiting for her response.

“I will!” she called a moment later. “You trained me well!” Kurt could feel her probing gaze on his back as he continued towards his charge. Between Constantin’s overenthusiasm and Cassandra’s exasperating astuteness, he was sure to come undone. And he had a sinking suspicion that it would be Cassandra’s specific doing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well...this chapter got away from me. It is not at all where I planned for it to originally go, but it's still quite the ride. We'll just have to save Kurt's undoing for the next chapter 🙈


	10. Atra Necessaria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trouble at sea leaves Kurt questioning his sanity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lovely shout out to the wonderful JovialKoala for all of her proofing. Thanks for checking me before I wreck me 😂

Trouble began nearly as soon as they set foot aboard the ship. The captain, Vasco, had explained to them that there was limited space on his ship, and, as a result, the three of them would have to share a cabin. Kurt had nearly had an apoplectic fit but was saved from embarrassing himself by Constatin’s own outburst.

“I beg your pardon?” He demanded, crossing his arms. The posture was quite familiar; it was the one the boy adopted when he expected full and complete compliance from those who served. “This is unacceptable. I am the governor of New Serene, and my fair cousin the legate of the Congregation. These accommodations are not befitting of our status, and frankly, your lack of propriety is astounding. Housing a young woman with two men?” Constantin paused to tsk before continuing his tirade. “I suggest you find the space. _Immediately._ Unless you desire my wrath and its consequences.”

Vasco stared at him, stony faced. The captain looked as if he was about to toss Constantin overboard -- status be damned -- when de Sardet smoothly interjected.

“Constantin,” she chided, “you’re being a pompous ass. We are guests on this boat-”

“Ship,” Vasco interrupted.

“Ship,” de Sardet corrected evenly, “and we will abide by the Captain’s orders. We have shared space before, and we will do it again. Besides, I’m sure our guardian will feel at ease knowing we’ll all be cooped up in the same pen. It’s much easier to watch over us that way, no?”

She turned to face him, watching expectantly. Kurt wanted to tell her that being stuffed together made them easier targets, but he knew better than to openly question nobility. And the way she looked at him, trusting him to support her, made it even harder for him to oppose. So he simply grunted his acceptance. She smiled and turned back to Vasco.

“There you have it. The matter is settled. I apologize for my cousin, Captain. He can be _such_ an ass.” Vasco barely hid his snort of mirth, and Constantin only scowled harder at the man. It seemed the boy was determined to sour yet another relationship.

With the situation settled -- as settled as it could be with Constantin -- the Naut captain led them to the cabin they would have to share for the duration of their voyage. Cabin was perhaps a generous term; the room was small and had clearly served some other purpose before its refurbishment. _Storage most likely_ Kurt decided absently.

An oversized bed dominated the dimly lit room; that the thing had been crammed into there was a miracle in itself. The addition of a narrow travel desk made the already cramped room even more claustrophobic. Constantin whirled on the captain, his face stormy. “This is where we’re expected to stay?” he hissed. Vasco coughed uncomfortably. “Yes,” he rasped. “You weren’t all supposed to be on the same ship, let alone this one, but when that monster escaped it damaged several of our ships -- including the one you were _supposed_ to be on. This was the best we could manage on our tight schedule.” “Thank you Captain,” de Sardet said before her cousin could complain further. “We appreciate your consideration.” She smiled gently at Vasco, watching as he retreated back into the murky corridors.

Cassandra shot Kurt a knowing look before rounding on her cousin. “Constantin.” Instantly, the new governor looked chastised, like a puppy that’d been caught with a shoe. “Play. Nice.” There was no malice in de Sardet’s melodic voice, just a simple command. Nevertheless, Constantin wilted. Kurt had never been quite so awed. The infamous Constantin, cowed by three words from his cousin? If only the rest of the guard could’ve seen it.

De Sardet’s face softened, the ice leaving her eyes as she watched her properly scolded cousin. “Come now,” she said in a honeyed tone, “Surely you don’t want to miss cast off?” Instantly the boy perked up. Mercurial as always, Constantin excitedly linked arms with de Sardet and dragged her up the stairs to the deck. Kurt followed after a few moments, trying not to get caught up in the cousins’ contagious excitement. It was a futile effort though; as they stood in the evening light watching Serene shrink, Kurt felt a tentative unfurling of hope within him. He could taste the tang of change on the briny air, feel the weight of an impending adventure. When de Sardet gasped, delighted by the sudden appearance of a dolphin pod in the ship’s wake, he had never felt so certain that he had made the right choice.

But that had been before night had fallen. Now, back in their paltry cabin, Kurt found himself reconsidering his earlier optimism. While the arrangements were unconventional, Kurt had not minded them. It was easy enough to escort Constantin to the shared lavatory so that he could ready himself for bed. The boy had taken ages, complaining about the lack of warm water, the absence of a good mirror, the smallness of the space. Even the roughness of the wooden floors received a critique, but eventually he emerged from the room, wrapped in a luxurious silk robe.

He motioned towards the lavatory. “Your turn,” he said, clearly disgusted after his own trip. Kurt sighed before squeezing into the room to care for his own needs. They were admittedly quite few, but Kurt moved slower than was necessary just to spite the boy. When he finally exited the space, Constantin shot him an annoyed glare. Kurt struggled to hide his amusement.

Then they returned to their room. In their attempt to accommodate the governor and legate, the Naut crew had practically overfilled the room. There was hardly space to move about when all three of them were present. Cassandra had been forced to crawl across the sizeable bed just to reach the door. Even then, she had still bumped into Constantin, seated in the corner, and then Kurt as she tried to course correct from her earlier collision.

And so, after Cassandra had left to care for her nightly rituals, Kurt and Constantin stood around the garishly oversized bed like a group of conspirators plotting their next move. Kurt rubbed his stubble and sighed. He was used to sleeping in uncomfortable situations, but this, well this was something entirely different. It wouldn’t be like the time when he shared a tent with the two nobles; they had been children then, and it had been a training exercise. This was…

“Not proper,” Kurt said, finishing his thought aloud.

“For once I agree with you,” Constantin responded.

Kurt surveyed the narrow floorspace between the bed and the miscellaneous chair. He doubted a bedroll would fit, and even if it could, it would leave them with no clear pathway in or out of the room. And crawling across the bed as de Sardet had done was hardly a practical or sustainable alternative. Particularly if one of them needed to make use of a chamber pot in the night. With a rising sense of dread, Kurt searched the space for a different option. _A hammock maybe?_ he thought anxiously as he scanned the walls for hooks or supports. Anything that would allow him to escape the only real option before them. And yet, the room was devoid of everything useful; it was almost as if it mocked the mercenary on purpose.

Kurt exhaled slowly, resigning himself to his unfortunate fate. Constantin seemed to reach the same conclusion mere seconds later. Kurt nearly laughed at the open horror on the boy’s face. The two stood, still and silent, letting the feeling of dread grow. A moment later, de Sardet shuffled into the room in a simple shift, her long hair hanging in loose waves. Sensing something, she looked between the two men, a quizzical look on her face. “What?” she demanded. “Has somebody died?”

“Only comfort and modesty,” Constantin replied tartly.

“The bed looks comfortable enough,” de Sardet observed mildly. “And Kurt has known us since we were children. He’s seen you streak naked through the courtyard, Constantin. I hardly think your modesty is threatened.” Kurt wasn’t sure if she was purposefully being obtuse in an attempt to torment them, or if she genuinely did not see an issue with their situation.

“It’s not my modesty I’m worried about,” Constantin huffed, simultaneously turning red and shooting daggers at Kurt. De Sardet looked more confused than when she had entered. “Since when did you worry about Kurt’s modesty?” Awkward silence descended on them, and in that span of quiet, Kurt knew that she was toying with them.

She gasped, her hand gracefully flying to her mouth. “Constantin! You wouldn’t be imagining anything untoward about our Captain would you? Is that why you’re so concerned?”

Kurt coughed then, ears turning pink in his awkwardness. Constantin, on the other had, looked positively murderous. “Cassandra…” he warned, but she was enjoying both of their discomfort far too much to stop. “Don’t worry Captain,” she said, mock bravado creeping into her voice, “I will protect you!”

With far too much enthusiasm, Cassandra crawled onto the bed and burrowed beneath the coverlet. She had positioned herself firmly in the center, and she patted the empty spaces on either side of her. “Come along now boys, bed time!” Kurt froze, stunned by her sudden audacity. He thought back briefly to her sparring ambushes and nighttime escapes. _Perhaps not that audacious…_ he amended. It did seem to be a pattern with her.

Kurt remained silent as Constantin began to splutter, trying to find excuses out of this particular arrangement. De Sardet laughed mirthfully at him. “Come now,” she wheedled her cousin, “With this arrangement, Kurt’s modesty may remain intact!”

“I don’t think it’s my modesty he’s worried about,” Kurt finally said dourly. “Precisely!” She looked at him then, the mirth draining from her face only to be replaced with a vulnerability he hadn’t seen since the time in the armory all those years ago. Kurt found himself entranced, drawn in by the spill of her raven hair across the pillows and the contrast of her olive skin against the crisp, white sheets. It was...she was...tempting.

Suddenly, Kurt remembered himself. He dragged his eyes away, but not before he caught de Sardet’s knowing glance. Mentally, he upraided himself. It had been a lapse in judgement. A breach in etiquette. One simply didn’t think of their former student and current charge in such a manner. And perhaps that was the most disquieting thing of all. That he _had_ thought of her as tempting. There was a jarring disconnect between the Green Blood in his memories -- the shy, reserved girl -- and the woman before him now. It made him uneasy; he didn’t know how to reconcile the two, or if he even could. So, just as he did with all uncomfortable thoughts and feelings, Kurt shut them away.

“...when we were children.” Kurt started as he caught the last snippet of conversation. It was as if de Sardet had read his mind and brought it to light. “What?” he snapped unintentionally. The two cousins looked at him, perplexion on both of their faces. “I said,” de Sardet began, “that we used to do this often when we were children.” She motioned vaguely at the three of them and the bed. “You know, on the camping trips you insisted on taking us on? Or when Constantin snuck into my room? There’s nothing different now. You’re still our mentor and we are still your unfortunate wards. It will be fine.”

He could see Constantin about to argue. Even if Kurt did in all likelihood agree with what he was about to say, he didn’t wish to drag the event out any longer than necessary. Or expose his qualms. “Green blood is right,” Kurt declared, forcing his characteristic gruffness into his voice. “Just get over it and go to bed.” De Sardet shot her cousin a smug smirk as he mumbled, “It’s not like we have anything to do tomorrow.” “Don’t press your luck, boy,” Kurt interrupted them, “I’m sure I can make arrangements.”

Constantin scowled, but complied, crawling into the space between his cousin and the wall. He glared at Kurt, and Cassandra smothered her laughter. It did remind the old mercenary of their camping trips. “And sleep,” he warned, “None of that whispering you two used to do. I can still have you running drills in the morning.” The two of them said nothing as Kurt settled on the outside edge of the bed. “I hate you,” he heard Constantin hiss at Cassandra. “If you kick me while you sleep,” she hissed back, “you’re dead.” “Enough. I said sleep.” The two quieted down as they had when they were children, properly chastised by their master of arms. Satisfied, Kurt extinguished the lantern beside them and stretched out beside his Green Blood, ready to be done with the day.

The day, however, did not seem to be done with him. Kurt lay on his side, hugging the edge of bed like his life depended on it. He was used to small, uncomfortable beds; it was a part of mercenary life after all. What he was not used to was the press of a woman against his back. De Sardet’s angry whispers from earlier in the evening seemed to have been prophecy; not long after Constantin had fallen asleep, the boy had lashed out with a swift kick. The only indication it had even happened was Cassandra’s surprised yelp of pain.

Instantly, Kurt was roused from his hazy half-sleep. “Green Blood?” he asked, words slurring. “That brat actually kicked me,” she whispered, her own voice groggy. “Ah.” Satisfied that there wasn’t any imminent danger, Kurt crossed his arms and readjusted himself, already drifting back into sleep. Distantly, he heard a rustle and felt the pull of sheets. A moment later the mattress space behind him sunk ever so slightly. And then came a soft, almost hesitant touch on his back. Kurt snapped awake, all remnants of foggy sleep gone.

“Sorry,” de Sardet breathed. “I know space is already limited, but if I’m any closer to my cousin, I’ll have more bruises than I can count.” A pause as she adjusted. Despite the small sliver of space between them, Kurt could sense Cassandra’s nearness. He began to tense. “I’m hoping this will spare me a few bruises. I don’t expect it’ll solve the problem, but maybe it’ll help.” There was a gentle tap of her fingers on his back. “Just like camping, hm?”

_Not at all,_ Kurt thought, but he remained silent. He’d rather not have to explain why it distinctly _wasn’t_ like her childhood trips. She didn’t press him though, and soon her gentle, rhythmic susurrations told him she had returned to sleep. Kurt stared into the darkness, thoughts slowly muddling as the delicate smell of roses invaded his senses. He forced his eyes shut, as if that would compel sleep to return. It didn’t; instead, it remained more elusive than ever.

Kurt rolled closer to the edge of the bed, hoping that even those few inches of space would help him escape the intoxicating scent of roses. Yet, his slight shift had a ripple effect. As soon as he had widened the distance, de Sardet shifted to close it. And, in her sleep, she did not consider leaving space between them. It was as if her subconscious desired the comfort of closeness, regardless of who it was. She attached herself like a leech to his back.

And so he was stuck, clinging to the edge of the bed with one of his wards inappropriately crushed against him. He tried to busy his mind by convincing himself it really _was_ just like camping. De Sardet, and even Constantin, had clung on to him when they were children. This was no different; it was simply an old habit.

Even if it was an old habit, Kurt found himself facing the same disconnect from earlier. It was hard to think of Cassandra as that shy girl when, in their present circumstances, she felt very much like a woman. With her every breath, he could feel the swell of her breasts, the suppleness of her stomach, even the tautness of her thighs. Her warmth seeped through his tunic, yet another ever present reminder of her presence. It was maddening. Any other man would have lost his composure long ago. And yet, Kurt reminded himself, he was not any other man. He was not allowed to lose his control, and it shouldn’t be a maddening situation in the first place.

Yet it was; he struggled to accept that de Sardet had grown into an alluring woman. Admitting that to himself only opened the avenue to new trials. In a flood, the thoughts and feelings he had been tamping down released and Kurt was forced to deal with each of them. It was an endless cycle of torment, a level of his own personal hell he had hoped to avoid. So he lay there, trying, and failing, to ignore the press of Cassandra while he attempted to wrangle his thoughts back onto safer ground. Before too long, Kurt could hear the stirring of the Nauts; dawn’s rosy light crept slowly in through the tiny porthole. When the room was filled with morning’s glow, Kurt gave up. He hadn’t slept since he’d been awoken, and he certainly wouldn’t be able to now; at least dawn gave him an excuse to leave. He slid from the bed and rushed from the room before either of his wards woke.

Over the span of the next few nights, Kurt insisted they try other arrangements. Vasco had made it abundantly clear that there was no additional room on the ship, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t rearrange things within their own cabin. The three tried sleeping with Constantin in the middle -- truly a fool’s mistake as he brutally kicked both of them while he slept, even when they tried to escape by squeezing to the edges of the bed. Next, Kurt attempted sleeping in the middle. He found that to be even worse than the first evening. On one side he was battered by Constantin; on the other, de Sardet snuggled against him.

He had tried sleeping on the deck, but the ocean spray and cool breezes made it unpleasant. He tried the hallway, but was constantly tripped on by the sailors. He checked the sailors’ cabin for a space to hang a hammock. Nothing. Vasco had not lied when he said space was nonexistent. Kurt had to re-resign himself to his fate. And so, night after night, Kurt lay awake, mind churning and distracted by the woman who unwittingly caused such trouble. Each night, he could feel a slow unraveling of something within him, yet he could never quite discern just what it was. Years of ignoring his emotions had left Kurt dumb to his own emotional workings; pondering them in the darkness only left him more disgruntled.

_It’s my sanity,_ he finally decided one night as his mind worked to solve the riddle and de Sardet shifted against him. _It’s my sanity that’s going._


	11. Altior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions at sea find Kurt at odds with his protégé.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you to the lovely JovialKoala for giving me feedback and pushing me to be a better writer. And for dealing with my bizarre questions. If you haven't read her work "The Waiting Game," I highly recommend it! Happy reading!

“Green Blood!” Kurt yelled, the vein in his temple pulsating as his heart rate rapidly soared. They had been on the Nauts’ ship for nearly five weeks now, and there was one thing that he had definitively learned: de Sardet was somehow infuriatingly, immeasurably, inconceivably worse than her cousin.

They both had a blatant disregard for protocol, rank, and their own safety, but at least Constantin was predictable. The boy loved to shirk his duties to gamble or drink or even whore, and he could reliably be found somewhere that afforded him his favorite vices. Even aboard the ship he remained the same. Kurt could always find him in their cabin or below decks gambling with the sailors. The mercenary had never thought he would miss Constantin duty as much as he did now.

De Sardet though...well she was a completely different story. She didn’t shirk her duties per se, but she somehow managed to twist them about in a way that brought her the most enjoyment -- and the most chagrin to others. She was doing them, and well, just not through conventional means. That made her entirely _unpredictable_. And, naturally, Cassandra delighted in it.

Despite the confines of the ship, she still managed to disappear for hours on end, eventually rousing a half hearted search on Kurt’s part. Constantine was the priority, but Kurt could hardly forget his promise to the Prince or the way her uncle had indifferently included her in his contract. And so he’d unhurriedly hunt her down; afterall, there were only so many places she could go. Or so Kurt thought.

The first time de Sardet had disappeared, Kurt had finally found her tucked away in the galley. She avidly watched the ship’s cook, her eyes sparkling brightly as she occasionally questioned the man. The cook was happily chatting away, showing off his collection of spices, the equipment, even his famous recipe for salted pork. The two of them looked like over excited maidens gossiping about whatever it was they gossiped about.

“What are you doing?” Kurt growled, irritated that it had taken him so long to find her. She looked up, annoyingly unsurprised. “Getting to know the crew,” she explained simply. “You’re the one who said it was important to know who you travel with.” Kurt blinked. She damn well knew that wasn’t what he meant and the wicked gleam in her eyes only reaffirmed that. And yet, how could he argue with her? She was _technically_ doing as he had said; she had merely taken it in an unintended direction. Scowling, Kurt left her under the care of the cook. He had learned his lesson: be as specific as possible. Otherwise, de Sardet, much like a djinn from the books she had read as a child, would find a loophole and twist the words to her advantage.

The second time she vanished, Kurt found her with relative ease. She was on her hands and knees, vigorously scrubbing the deck with Jonas. She laughed at something the boy said before she spotted Kurt. De Sardet paused in her labors to wave, smiling brightly at him despite being covered in muck. Kurt sighed, rubbing his face in exasperation as he approached the duo. “Lady…” He started. “You said that a good companion pulls their weight,” Cassandra interrupted.

“I know what I said,” Kurt snapped irritably. That she had managed to find yet another loophole despite his best attempts irked him beyond words. He cursed de Courcillion and his damned education. He cursed de Boronois just for good measure. They both had undoubtedly given her this skill that seemed to have become a favorite pastime of hers. And one that she clearly had no intention of giving up. Kurt left her to her devices, realizing that he was losing the war against his Green Blood.

By her third disappearance, Kurt decided he wouldn’t say anything. He would just ensure that she wasn’t in any danger. He found her playing chess with Vasco -- an almost appropriate activity for a noblewoman if it weren’t for her choice of company. “I’m keeping my mind sharp,” de Sardet explained, barely glancing up from the board. “It’s paramount for a noblewoman. Also, did you know Captain Vasco is an excellent chessman?” Kurt sighed and left.

Kurt had eventually lost track of her adventures; they were all relatively harmless, if a little odd. Now though, he found himself yelling at her. De Sardet swung about in the ships’ rigging, scurrying from mast to mast and performing aerial feats that made Kurt’s stomach flip.

“Green Blood!” he angrily shouted again. This was most assuredly the sort of danger he had intended to keep her out of. “Get down!” She was too high up for Kurt to know if she’d heard him. Based on her jump to a nearby rope, he doubted it. “You’re going to fall,” he muttered to himself.

“Oh, she already has,” Vasco said, amusement tingeing his voice. Kurt hadn’t heard the Naut approach. The man idly thumbed the block of wood he’d been carving as he squinted up at de Sardet. “I thought we’d have to scrape noblewoman off the deck.” Kurt glared, not amused by the man’s morbid humor. Vasco, for his part, seemed nonplussed.

“It happens from time to time, you know,” he pressed on. “A Naut loses their grip or misjudges the distance. Hell, even a squall occasionally knocks them from the rigging. It’s a part of the trade. You know how it is,” Vasco paused to resume his carving, no longer interested in Cassandra. Kurt did know how it was; accidents happened all the time in his line of work. But de Sardet was neither a mercenary nor a Naut. She was taking unnecessary risks for fun. There was a slow simmer of anger. Hadn’t he taught her better?

“But a noblewoman? That would’ve been a first. I suppose I’m to blame,” Vasco chatted on, unaware, or uncaring, of the storm settling on Kurt’s brow. “I told her Nauts start from the bottom and work their way up. A good Naut captain knows their ship from top to bottom. I guess she took that a little too literally.”  
“Sounds right,” Kurt grumbled. “She’s headstrong but brave, I’ll give her that,” Vasco replied. “She didn’t even scream when she missed the rope.” Kurt felt a nudge of horror. A part of him had thought the man just had a ghoulish sense of humor; that he’d been giving him a hard time, maybe trying to shock him. But the way he explained it, so matter of factly, meant it had actually happened.

“When did this happen?” Kurt asked sharply.

Vasco looked at him then, his eyebrow high and a look of mild incredulity on his face.

“You’re a shit guard aren’t you?”

Kurt swiveled, his attention finally and completely drawn away from his Green Blood. He glowered at the Naut. He’d been a mercenary long before the whelp had been able to walk. Kurt knew his business inside and out; he’d trained harder than any of his comrades, killed more men than sailors aboard the ship, fought his way to captain. This man didn’t have the _right_ to criticize him.

Kurt drew himself up, straight and stiff as the sword at his back, ready to put the Naut in his place.

“You’re a shit guard,” Vasco repeated, unphased by Kurt’s open hostility. “De Sardet has been crawling around up there for weeks and you’re just now discovering it? If you ask me, you should spend less time worrying about that fop and more time watching her. She’s _more_ likely to find trouble.”

 _I didn’t ask you, you rat bastard,_ Kurt seethed to himself. But the Naut wasn’t exactly wrong. Kurt paused, collecting himself. He _had_ been neglecting de Sardet. He should never have had to search for her in the first place; he should’ve known her whereabouts at all times, just as he did Constantin’s. It was standard protocol -- something he knew like the back of his hand. But he couldn’t very well tell the man that he’d been avoiding de Sardet because he couldn’t get a handle on himself.

“That _fop_ is who I’m paid to guard. So he gets priority. Green Blood can take care of herself.” It was the same justification Kurt used when he argued with himself, and he winced a little when he heard how feeble it sounded aloud. He’d stick by it though; the Naut didn’t need to know his own misgivings. He knew his Coin Guard lessons well. Stay strong. Stay impassible. Don’t let them know how scared or confused or misguided you might be. It’s a weakness that will only get you killed.

Kurt folded his arms and looked sternly at the Naut captain, challenging him to say otherwise. He had mostly reigned in his anger, but may the Enlightened protect the fool if he thought to press him further. Vaso only shrugged. “Almost had me fooled.”  
He tucked the block of wood back into his coat pocket and made to leave. He paused a moment. “She’s crafty,” Vasco explained. “You didn’t ask why she wasn’t splattered across the deck.” He squinted up at her one last time. “She used whatever sorcery she commands to shift back into the ropes. Strangest thing I ever saw. One moment she was falling, the next she was hanging from the rigging with the stupidest grin.” He shook his head. “Flavia goes up after her now. I don’t want any repeats.” With that, Vasco nodded and meandered back to wherever he had come from.

Sighing, Kurt peered back up to the rigging. Much to his dismay, she was now swinging through the ropes wildly, the wind snatching her hair and drawing it out like an ink stain against the blue sky. Her laughter drifted down in occasional bursts, and Kurt fought the smile that tugged at his lips. He was still angry -- and smarting from Vasco’s observations -- but her joy was palpable, even from a great distance. Something about her unbridled delight sparked a sense of satisfaction within Kurt; he’d been with de Sardet since she was a child. He remembered her sense of wonder as a child, and how withdrawn and miserable she had become as she grew into adolescence -- how she had hidden away from the world. He was glad to see it return, although he had qualms about her methodology. Qualms that he intended to address with her as soon as her feet returned to the safety of the deck.

After some time, de Sardet shimmied down the main mast, Flavia not far behind. Kurt crossed his arms in irritation. De Sardet needed to mind protocol, and he had every intention of reminding her. “Kurt!” she exclaimed before he had the chance to launch into the lecture he had planned. He scowled at her, ignoring the rosy glow in her cheeks. “Have you been up there before?”

“No,” he replied bluntly, “and you shouldn’t be either.” She looked at him, an uncanny understanding flickering in her eyes. “Perhaps,” she conceded after a beat, “But it’s exhilarating, it’s a feeling of freedom, it’s... it’s…” Cassandra waved her hands in a vague motion, uncharacteristically at a loss for words. Flavia nodded sagely. “Aye, I understand what ye mean. It’s something ye’ve got to experience fer yerself.”

Kurt rolled his eyes, unimpressed with their ambiguity and sudden sisterhood. But he could not begrudge de Sardet. Even he had snuck away from the rigmarole of training; he could still taste the thrill of freedom all these years later. He supposed he could make an exception -- just this once. With an exaggerated sigh, Kurt said, “Fine. I’ll spare you the lecture today.” De Sardet’s eyes twinkled merrily, both acknowledging and mocking his magnanimity. “ _Today,_ ” he reiterated, warning that the conversation would eventually be had. But it seemed de Sardet was impervious to the threat as she sauntered off with Flavia, heads together as they no doubt began to plot some minor mischief.

As the days slid into a week, Kurt realized that the conversation he had promised was not going to happen. De Sardet appeared to have settled into a pattern of visiting crewmates before scaling the mast to sit amongst the ratlines, Flavia by her side. Her wild abandon, which had plagued Kurt, seemed to have mostly evened out. And since de Sardet had apparently taken her safety into consideration, the lecture had become moot. All that remained was his exasperation that his Green Blood refused to behave as a noble while her cousin behaved too much like one. The irony was certainly not lost on him.

Kurt mused over this particular twist of fate as he absently polished his sword in their cabin. Constantin, for once, was in the cramped room contemplating some book. The two sat in silence, enjoying the respite from the bustling sounds of sea life. But not for long. Vasco pushed the door open, not bothering to knock. Kurt spared him a glance before returning to his sword. He wasn’t quite ready to forgive the rat.

“It’s raining, boys,” Vasco said with the most cheer Kurt had heard from him. “Obviously,” Constantin drawled. “Why else do you think we’re both holed up in here?” “I assumed for the riveting company.” Kurt snorted; he had to hand it to the Naut. He was quick with his wit.

Constantin scowled, not amused. “What’s your point Captain?” The governor bristled, his patience already worn thin. Kurt was positive Cassandra’s warning to her cousin was the only thing keeping the boy in line. “My point is you smell.” Vasco tossed a hard bar of soap to Constantin and, a moment later, one to Kurt. “Both of you.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Vasco sighed. “I said you stink. We all do. And unless you want to spend the rest of this voyage reeking like a corpse a horse shat out, you’ll follow me. Bring a change of clothes and meet me on the main deck.” He left, his footsteps receding down the narrow hall.

Kurt shrugged, sheathing his blade. “He’s got a point.” Constantin slammed his book shut and tossed it petulantly on the bed. “It doesn’t mean I have to like it,” his ward sniffed. The mercenary tried not to roll his eyes at him. Instead, he busied himself with the collection of clean clothes. “Come along boy,” Kurt admonished gruffly. “You might not like whatever the Naut has planned, but your cousin and I are the ones who’ll be stuck with the consequences. And I for one don’t want to be stuck with your stench.” “Ugh. Very well.”

Constantin grabbed his own set of trousers and tunic and followed Kurt to the main deck. “Ah there you are,” Vasco said, nearly shouting over the heavy drum of rain. “The boys have everything set up.” He pointed towards an oiled canvas that had been strung up nearby, creating a sheltered pathway to another covered section of the deck. There, Nauts were in various states of undress, their clothes tossed about haphazardly. A few were already naked and heading into the rain.

“What is this?” Constantin demanded. “A bath,” Vasco responded. “We have to take advantage of this rainstorm while we can. They aren’t all as perfect as this.” The man laughed before heading towards the makeshift pavilion, peeling his coat off as he went. Constantin scrambled after him, trying to argue with the captain but unable to form the words. Kurt trailed after them, enjoying the Naut captain’s dark humor and ability to irritate Constantin. It looked like the boy was getting a taste of his own medicine, and for that, Kurt would let bygones be bygones.

“What about the women...my cousin?!” Constantin was nearly shrieking by the time Kurt joined them under the overhang. Vasco, for his part, was not the least bit bothered by the boy’s outburst. He continued undressing, setting his boots beside his neatly folded shirt and coat. “Well we Nauts don’t have the same hang up about modesty that you seem to…” “ _What?!_ ” Constantin actually shrieked this time.

Vasco chuckled, unlacing his trousers and wiggling out of them. “I thought you’d have a problem with that. We made accommodations and the women are on the poop deck. They’ll have their privacy and we’ll have ours. It’s the best we could do. Cassandra didn’t seem to have a problem with it.”

Kurt started, surprised by how casually the Naut referred to the legate. Constantin didn’t fail to notice it either, and a murderous look crossed his face. But the lean Naut had already dashed out into the rain, disregarding them both. He had about much concern for the order of things as de Sardet did, and Kurt could only shake his head when Constantin whirled on him, his face red. “Aren’t you going to do something about this?”

“Go clean up, I suppose,” Kurt responded, tugging his shirt over his head. “Don’t know what else you expect me to do about it.” He kicked his boots off. It was unconventional, to be sure, but he wasn’t one to complain. Over his mercenary career, He’d learned to adapt and work with such oddities. And, he reasoned, it would be nice to be rid of the grime. Kurt’s breeches soon found themselves next to his other discarded clothes.

The deluge was surprisingly warm; he had expected it to be cold. In all honesty, he wasn’t sure what he _had_ expected and so he stood there like a deer trapped in a hunter’s line of sight. Eventually, Kurt collected himself, laughing at his nonsense. A bath was a bath, and he knew how to do that. He scrubbed his skin with the bar, fascinated by how quickly the rain washed away the suds.

The Nauts had taken up a song and were loudly singing a shanty about loves left behind. The younger crewmates had begun pelting each other with soap bars; the few who had finished their impromptu bath whipped their towels about menacingly, adding to the celebratory atmosphere. Constantin still sulked beneath the canvas, but Kurt paid him little mind. It was easy to get swept up in the fun of it all.

“Hey boys!” Vasco shouted loudly over the rain and the sailors’ singing. “Looks like we’ve got some company!” He pointed to an inconspicuous set of boxes. “We see you sirens! They must be here to lure us to the sea!” The Nauts whistled and hooted noisily, as if this were a part of the strange ritual. Kurt turned, watching the scene unfold curiously. “Reveal yourselves! You can’t fool us anymore!”

A few moments later, several heads popped up from behind the boxes. Kurt recognized Flavia among them. With a dreadful certainty, he knew that where there was one, there would be the other; de Sardet must not be far behind. He only hoped that this time she had enough sense to not join in the escapade. But Kurt’s small hope was shattered the instant he spotted de Sardet’s familiar profile.

The men whistled loudly at her appearance, elbowing each other and making lewd comments to each other. Cassandra stepped out from behind the boxes and offered an exaggerated bow. The sailors’ cacophony grew louder and Vasco said something, but it was lost amidst the noise. Whatever it had been made Cassandra laugh, and she winked playfully at the man. _Winked._

Kurt’s simmering exasperation exploded into rage; he was tired of her flagrant disregard for propriety and safety, tired of how she bent the rules, tired of her troublesome oddities. As her mentor, he had harped on her often to correct her stance or strengthen her defenses, but not once had he taken her to task for her behavior. She had never needed it. But in the years she was away, she had grown into a woman Kurt couldn’t quite comprehend. He had found her intriguing -- he still did on some level -- but in that moment he wished she would behave like a proper noblewoman.

“Green Blood!” he barked over the noise. Immediately, the Nauts fell silent, their eyes flickering interestedly between the two of them. Cassandra turned, a disconcertingly wolfish grin on her face. She cocked an eyebrow and her eyes flickered appreciatively. Her sudden shift in focus brought him briefly back to himself. He scowled, refusing to show any embarrassment for his state of undress.

“Captain?” Cassandra called back, her voice cloyingly sweet. His anger swelled, fueled by his irritability from many sleepless nights. All of which were her doing.

 _This is all just some game to her,_ he thought bitterly as he began to stalk towards her, clothes be damned. He paused long enough to pull a scrap of fabric from the mending pile and wrap it about his waist before continuing his relentless march. De Sardet’s eyes glinted in amusement, even as he yanked her roughly to the side.

“No need to be so rough. Unless…” she smiled coyly, baiting him and watching for his response. Perhaps if he wasn’t so angry, de Sardet would have succeeded; however, it accomplished the opposite, only antagonizing him further.

“You’re acting like a damned child, insufferable and spoiled.”  
The words had just slipped out. Kurt had not intended to be so blunt, but Cassandra managed to irritate him beyond his normal, rational self. Nevertheless he was a stubborn man. He pressed on, folding his arms and leveling de Sardet with his infamous glare. It never failed to cow his soldiers into submission, and the look had often frightened Cassandra as a child. He expected it to accomplish at least one of those things now.

He felt her stiffen slightly, but when he met her eyes Kurt felt as if he had severely misjudged her. She looked at him with an icy detachment, her face drained of its humor. He felt uneasy, like he had when he was still a green blood on the eve of his first battle. With an almost terrifying calmness, she pried his fingers from her arm.

“Children don’t peep on grown men! Or admire the view!” Flavia yelled at them, breaking the silent tension between them.

“Letting your friends take up for you now?” Kurt growled, ignoring the Naut. “Disappointing.”

He did not like the feral smile that slowly pulled at her lips.

“Hardly, _Captain_ ,” she retorted frostily. “I was simply appreciating the irony. You deign to call me a child, and, yet, I have never seen a finer example. Instead of addressing your concerns, you have hidden away, avoiding me at all costs. You don’t hide it nearly as well as you think you do.”

“This is not about me,” he rounded, an unsettling mix of anger and shame settling on his shoulders. “This is about you, and your behavior. Your sense seems to have flown away with the wind. You are a woman of status, but you’re acting like a fool. You’ve forgotten your obligations, your duty. I know your tutors taught you better. I know I did.”

She scoffed. “That’s rich. I’ve forgotten _my_ duties? Do you even know what they are? Or do you assume that I neglect them because I do not meet your expectations in achieving them?”

In his mind’s eye, Kurt saw Cassandra as a little girl again -- the one who lisped in happiness, who wanted to kill monsters, and who was so eager to please him. The one who had followed his instructions to the letter and beamed up at him when she had finished a task. But, as he had begun to learn on their voyage, that little girl had long since left, replaced by a woman who could read his thoughts and frustrations and draw them into the light. Kurt found it hard to argue with her; how could he, when she could see him more clearly than he saw himself? He fell silent, eyes drifting to the horizon in resignation. l.

“No matter. If I’m shirking my duty, then I suppose I have learned something from you after all.” She stepped away from him, venom in her steel eyes. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must go put your teachings into practice; I have _many_ things I wish to avoid.” She gave him one last pointed look before disappearing into the bowels of the ship.

 _Well. Fuck._ That had hardly gone as expected, and Kurt felt as if he had been trampled by a horse. His anger had receded, leaving him empty and small. It had never been easy for him to admit his mistakes. To have a former student call him out, well, that was a new low. His own captains had railed time and time again that his failure to admit those mistakes would be his downfall. In that moment, Kurt knew they were right. Worst of all, he was fairly certain he had just learned his lesson at the hands of his ward.

“Well, handsome,” Flavia called to him. He had forgotten she was still there, that she had just watched his plans backfire. “What?” he snapped at her. She laughed, turning to follow Cassandra. Over her shoulder she shouted, “I’d say yer well and truly fucked now!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flavia's the hero I didn't know I needed until I started writing this chapter 😂


	12. Paenitentia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra must deal with a startling realization.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to JovialKoala for helping me with this chapter. Especially THAT sentence.

Cassandra squinted against the glaring sun and pulled the fabric closer. She had no idea how she had let Vasco convince her to mend sails, and yet, there she sat on the sunny deck, sail in hand. With great effort, Cassandra made tiny, neat stitches that would have made her mother proud. Princess de Sardet had hired many tutors over the course of Cassandra’s life. Tutors that were _supposed_ to teach her the skills that every noblewoman should have in her arsenal. Dancing. Embroidery. How to charm the opposite sex. Vapid conversation skills. Subjects that never held her attention quite as well as de Courcillion’s lessons or Kurt’s drills.

At the thought of the mercenary, Cassandra stabbed the sail with renewed vigor. She still smarted from his rebukes the day before, and she was not ready to admit that perhaps there was a grain of truth in his words. _It’s the principle,_ she thought indignantly. If Kurt had approached her differently, she would not have lashed out at him as she had. Distantly, she recognized how childish she was being. _Only as childish as he is!_ a part of her cried out, still simmering and illogical. She viciously tugged the needle and thread through the sail, watching in grim satisfaction as the fabric puckered beneath her fingers.

“What sorta women d’ye think he fancies?” Flavia asked, intruding on Cassandra’s righteous anger.

“Pardon?”

Flavia sighed as if she were a harried mother. “I said…”

“I know what you said,” Cassandra interrupted, “I need you to clarify who.”

The Naut grinned wickedly, and nudged Cassandra. “ _Him_.” She followed Flavia’s gaze across the deck. “Of course,” Cassandra muttered under her breath. Kurt stood at the bow, watching the sailors carry out their duties. He was, no doubt, taking a break from her cousin.

“I know yer outta sorts, but ye’d have to be blind not to see him. And we did see him. I’d take a tumble with’m anytime.” Flavia winked, clearly enjoying Cassandra’s deepening scowl. “Or maybe yer just daft. Too many thunks to the head?”

Cassandra pushed the sails away in annoyance. Flavia’s irreverence had been what endeared her to Cassandra. She liked that the Naut cared little for status and treated her as one of their own. They had bonded quickly without the mire of propriety slowing them. Yet, in that precise moment, Cassandra wished that the woman would pretend to have some modicum of respectability.

“I am _not_ about to discuss what sort of women Kurt favors with you.”

Flavia nodded sagely. “I bet he likes big tits.”

Cassandra spluttered, much to her companion’s delight. “Flavia!” she finally managed to squeak out. They had talked about men before, but only in general terms. None of them had been people they knew. And certainly not their mentors. Cassandra wished she could disappear beneath the waves.

“Ye can’t deny ye’ve never thought about it before!” Flavia crowed in delight. “Ye’ve been with him most of yer life. And we both know what it’s like to be a randy youth. Truth be, I’m surprised ye haven’t jumped him already.”

Blushing, Cassandra covered her face. “Flavia,” she groaned. “I beg you, please stop. It’s like if I asked you what sort of woman Vasco fancies.” She hoped that it would be off putting for the woman. That she’d understand the uncomfortable squirming Cassandra felt in her stomach if she compared the situation to somebody similar. Flavia only laughed.

“I already know that,” she said offhandedly. “Matter of fact, yer much his type, but that’s neither here ner there. We’re talking about yer master of arms.” She sighed with mock longing. “No man has the right to that much muscle.”

“Still,” Flavia pressed on, determined to pull Cassandra into the conversation. “I’d bet money on big tits. Blonde do ye think? Most men do like them. I know I do.” She waggled her eyebrows. “He’s a tall man...me thinks a petite thing. To throw her around ye know? But not too petite. With hands like that he’ll want something to grab. Aside from big tits.”

Cassandra realized it wouldn’t stop. Not unless she contributed something to the conversation. She wracked her brain, searching for anything that would appease the monster beside her. Kurt had been with them for nearly seventeen years. It shouldn’t be that difficult for her to conjure up something. Afterall, Cassandra had been the Prince’s spy master for a time; there was nothing she didn’t know. But the more she searched her memories, the less she was able to find.

She recognized him only on the most basic of levels, his imposing figure merely existing on a shadowy plain within her thoughts. He was rigid, bound up in his ideas of duty and honor; he stringently adhered to his schedules and training. Yet, there had to be more to him than that. She was ashamed to admit that, despite all their years together, she didn’t know any trivialities about him -- his birthday, his favorite color, anything. Her shoulders slumped.

“I don’t know,” she finally admitted aloud, voice muted with her embarrassment. Flavia, mercifully, did not continue. They sat in awkward silence for a few moments, lost in their own thoughts.

“I ‘spose we could ask,” Flavia started. “I’m sure it’d patch things up between the two of ye!”

Cassandra sighed and folded the sail, tossing it aside. “You can,” she said, standing. “I’m not interested in the particulars, nor am I ready to make amends quite yet.”

Flavia scoffed. “Is that what yer tellin’ yerself? Fine then. I ‘spose ye’ve got some way to make him suffer? What’s it to be then?”

The Naut stood, prodding her shoulder as she did. There was an impish gleam in her eye. “Whatever it is, I want in. Ye fancy folk always have something clever planned.” Cassandra smacked her hand away, mildly irritated.

“I have nothing planned, Flavia. We’re all adults here. It will be dealt with when cooler heads prevail.”

“Big words fer somebody who was just stewin’.”

“That’s _precisely_ why I said cooler heads,” Cassandra said flatly. She was well aware that she had been having a fit earlier. It wasn’t as if she had tried to conceal it. And if Flavia had asked about revenge during her episode, Cassandra was positive she would have concocted a delightfully terrible scheme. Her companion’s questions, however, had unintentionally shifted her mood. It left her tender and exposed, neither of which she was especially fond.

Abruptly, she brushed Flavia off. “If you’ll excuse me,” Cassandra said, her mind beginning to turn elsewhere, “I must speak with my cousin.” Without waiting for the Naut’s assuredly smart response, Cassandra headed below decks.

“Constantin,”she started, bursting into their cabin. He looked up from his book nonchalantly.

“What is Kurt’s favorite color?”

Slowly, her cousin closed his book, sighing as if it were the most tedious question in the world.

“Good afternoon to you too, fair cousin. I’m well, if a little tired of sea travel. Thank you _so_ much for your concern. Now what is it I can do for you?”

Cassandra recognized her cousin’s jabs well, and she had learned to ignore them. She settled on the edge of the bed.

“What is Kurt’s favorite color,” she repeated, more as a statement than question.

“I don’t know,” Constantin said, disinterestedly thumbing through the pages of his book. “Does it matter?”

She stared at him a long moment. “You don’t think it’s odd that we’ve been with him for so long, and we know nothing about him?”

Constantin laughed. There was no mirth in it; it was the sort of laugh he used when he didn’t find something particularly funny. The sort he used when he was humoring somebody. Or when he was about to degrade them. Cassandra had never liked it.

“Cass, come on now. We both know plenty about him. He’s just a mercenary with a pole up his ass. Nothing more, nothing less.”

She gritted her teeth at her cousin’s callousness and the ease in which he deployed it.

“That is unkind of you,” she chided, “and you know it. People are not one dimensional, Constantin. You should know that more than anyone else.”

It was the wrong thing to say.

“Whatever do you mean, cousin,” he said, a bitter edge creeping into his voice.

“Only that you hate being categorized into a tiny box and yet you are so willing to do that to others.”

Constantin’s eyes flashed with some emotion -- rage? embarrassment? -- before they settled into a dull blue.

“No, Cass, I don’t know Kurt’s favorite color. Or food. Or season. Or any of that nonsense. He’s my bodyguard, paid to protect me, to die for me if needed. You don’t ask a tool questions, Cass. You use it and expect it to do its job without complaint. And make no mistake, cousin, Kurt is a tool. No matter how long we’ve known him.”

Cassandra blinked, taken aback by the cold acceptance in her cousin’s words. Had he always thought like this? Apprehension curled in her stomach. Was she the same? Had she internalized those beliefs without even knowing it? Is that why she knew nothing about Kurt? Who else had she neglected?

Her thoughts began to spiral. _No,_ her conscience rang out clearly, firmly. Kurt was an exception, not the rule. She thought of Claire, her sweet, soft spoken lady’s maid who loved daisies and romance novels. Of Madame Helena who couldn’t stand injustice and Lady Anna’s penchant for sneaking cookies from the kitchen. She even knew of Vasco’s hidden chess talents and Flavia’s secret rum stash. She had never viewed any of these people as tools; she had gleaned their secrets and interests herself, simply because she was curious and cared.

 _No,_ she thought, _I know nothing about Kurt because I took him for granted._ She had assumed she knew him simply because they had been together for so long. But time hardly matters if the effort was never there. She cringed as she recalled the awkwardness of her teenage years and how she had silently shadowed him, filled with admiration but too timid to say anything. Following him around hardly counted as knowing him.

Constantin cleared his throat, bringing her back to their tiny cabin. He watched her expectantly. She took a moment to collect herself before standing and gently placing a hand on his shoulder. They looked at each other.

“You sound eerily like Uncle.”

The words hung heavily in the air as Constantin’s face grew stormy; he would spend the rest of the afternoon mulling over the conversation, trying to convince himself he was not the same. A twinge of remorse pricked Cassandra. She did not often compare her cousin and uncle; it was a severe recrimination, reserved only for the most extenuating circumstances. But she steeled herself. Sometimes one needed to be harsh in order to protect their loved ones from what they feared most.

She squeezed his shoulder. He patted her hand absently, and Cassandra knew that all would be well. He just needed time to reflect.

“I’ll check in on you later,” she said softly.

Quietly, she slipped from their cabin only to bump into the very crux of her problems. She staggered, caught off balance by Kurt’s unyielding sturdiness. He caught her, his hands steady on her arms. A heartbeat later, he dropped her arms as if he’d been burned.

“Green Blood,” he said, stiffly staring at the door frame above her head.

The awkward tension was palpable. Cassandra’s anger had been replaced with a lingering sense of guilt. And much like her anger, she wasn’t quite ready to deal with it, or the source of it.

“Captain,” she responded frostily, withdrawing into the safety of a chilly politeness. She caught his eye only briefly before brushing past him, ignoring the pained scowl creeping onto his face. She would make amends soon. After she had dealt with her own inner turmoil.

Soon, however, proved to be both a vague and dangerous idea. Several days had passed, and still Cassandra had not spoken with the mercenary. Instead, whenever she saw him, she’d offer a chilly acknowledgement before scurrying away with the promise of _soon_ echoing in her thoughts. The strain on their relationship became increasingly more pronounced. Cassandra no longer slept, instead passing the nights staring at the planes of Kurt’s broad shoulders. Her thoughts grew so muddled she made silly mistakes, drawing the attention of Constantin and the ire of Vasco. Flavia, for her part, was keen enough to discern the issue.

“Just apologize and be done with it,” the Naut said to her while they sat amidst the rigging. Cassandra remained silent, absorbed in her study of the crew far beneath them. Even from the great height, she could easily pick out the familiar shapes of Constantin and Kurt. She had decided that Kurt’s points were valid, and she would try to conduct herself better. Better excluded her forays into the rigging though. She would not give that up for the world.

Flavia shifted and swung into view, blocking her vision and stealing her attention.

“Or are ye waiting fer him to apologize first? Like a perverse foreplay?”

Cassandra rolled her eyes. “Not everything is about sex, Flavia.”

“So ye say; but the way the two of yous keep dancin’ round each other says something entirely different.”

She fixed her with a pointed stare, and Flavia raised her free hand in mock apology.

“Look,” she pressed on, “I’ve seen enough to know what’s what. And the two of ye are what’s what if ye catch me meaning. But this pussyfootin’ needs to stop. Be a woman n’ deal with him.”

But that was just it. She didn’t know _how_ to ‘deal with him.’ She had allowed herself to slide into unfamiliar territory, complicating what she had once assumed was a straightforward relationship. And to make matters worse, she had let the situation settle until it had evolved into the current stalemate. Cassandra could feel Mr. de Courcillion’s disappointment; one of his earliest lessons had been how to avoid political stalemates. Maybe if she had applied those skills here, she wouldn’t be in her current predicament.

“I don’t know how,” she finally admitted to Flavia. The woman’s eyes narrowed. “Wha’d’ye mean?” she responded cautiously.

Cassandra sighed, taking a moment to consider her phrasing. And if she wanted to trust Flavia with her thoughts.

“I mean I’m at a loss. I don’t know how to apologize to him. It feels like I’ve let this sit too long and the damage is now irreparable. To apologize now would seem like an afterthought.” She paused, tucking loose hair behind her ears. “And I have realized, much to my embarrassment, I hardly know Kurt. I just assumed that I did. How do I make a sincere apology to somebody I don’t truly know? How do I atone for my neglect when it should never have been there?”  
Flavia’s face softened as she listened to her confession. A wave of relief swept over her; it was nice to unburden herself, knowing that there were no strings attached, that their friendship wasn’t conditional.

“Gods yer daft,” Flavia breathed a moment later.

 _Well,_ Cassandra thought, _I can never accuse Flavia of being too soft._

“Yer over complicatin’ things. Ye’ve got the advantage with yer Captain. Ye’ve got shared experiences, and that’s a bond stronger than many things in this world. Just apologize and be done with it,” she grumbled.

“That seems rather simple,” Cassandra said flatly.

“Because it is. So’s gettin’ to know him. Just ask.”

Flavia shook her head, muttering unintelligibly beneath her breath. “Just fix it,” she concluded before abandoning her.

Cassandra sat until the sun began to dip beneath the waves. She’d need to come down before she lost the light, but she wanted to calm the butterflies roiling in her stomach first. Flavia had made it into a straightforward matter. So, Cassandra would treat it as such. Who would have suspected that the woman hid pearls of wisdom beneath her raunchy exterior? With new resolve, Cassandra climbed down the mast. Time to be a woman about it.

She waited patiently for the right opportunity to present itself. But it never did. As if sensing her intentions, Constantin thwarted every opening. She grudgingly admitted that it must be a special skill of her cousin’s. Soon, she found herself back at lying awake in the dead of night, studying Kurt’s back through the pull of his shirt.

 _Flavia’s right,_ she thought, _no man has the right to this much muscle._

Constantin murmured and turned beside her, and Cassandra shifted closer to Kurt to avoid her cousin’s thrashing. Lightly, she brushed the expanse of his shoulders with her fingertips, drawn to them like a moth to flame. Kurt stiffened beneath her touch, and she remembered herself. She hadn’t realized he was still awake, and she quickly snatched her hand back. The uncomfortable tension that plagued them returned, heavier than before.

But, it was an opportunity. She had been looking for one, and here it unexpectedly was. _Be a woman and deal with it,_ she thought, using Flavia’s earlier words as motivation. She inhaled deeply, her breath whistling sharply in the quiet. Hesitantly, she grasped Kurt’s shirt. It was something she had done often as a child -- tugging on his shirt when she wanted him to know her seriousness. Admittedly, it was an odd habit, but then again, she had been a strange child with a stranger cousin. And old habits die hard.

“Kurt,” she started, her voice intensely soft. “I’m so sorry.”

It was simple; she didn’t want to muddle it with a sad attempt at an elaborate or eloquent apology. And sometimes the plainest words carried the most weight.

She bunched his shirt fabric in her hand, pulling softly and waiting for some kind of response. An acknowledgement. Anything. The silence seemed unending, and in the dark of the room, Cassandra could almost imagine the slow, inevitable ticking of a clock.

Did he hear her? Maybe she should repeat herself or offer a more elaborate apology. Stubbornly, she refused. If there had been one lesson she had learned from her uncle, it was to never repeat oneself. It only sullied/weakened the impact of one’s words. Kurt must have heard her. He had the hearing of a hawk. And much like a hawk, he was slowly, deliberately, circling, considering the best method to take down his prey.

“Okay.”

She hadn’t realized she had been holding her breath until that moment. Exhaling, she gingerly rested her forehead on his back. He stiffened beneath her touch, ready to bolt like a high strung horse. Clearly, there was still work to be done; they would need to discuss their argument in the future. For now though, Cassandra would have to be content with his acknowledgement.

“Kurt?” she asked a few moments later. He started as if he had expected her to be done, but was taken aback by her sudden intrusion.

“What’s your favorite color?”

He was quiet for some time. Cassandra half expected him to respond with one of his typical brusque answers, if at all. But there was a change. Like when spring arrives with a nearly imperceptible thaw after a long winter.

“Green,” he finally murmured.

 _Who would’ve thought,_ she mused, pleased he had answered.

Cassandra smiled secretly to herself, finally finding some sense of inner peace. Her head rose and fell, moved by Kurt’s deep, even breathing. It was enough to lull her to sleep. As she began to drift, though, Kurt shifted, dragging her back to consciousness. She was about to ask what was the matter, but paused, feeling his tension rise. It was as if he were fighting a losing battle.

“Yours is red.”

“What?” she whispered, surprised.

“Your favorite color is red,” he repeated, voice oddly tender.

“I didn’t know you knew…”

“I know plenty of things about you,” He said it almost like a promise, hinting at things Cassandra could barely fathom.

“Oh…” she responded weakly, inadequately. He had somehow stolen both her breath and her words with his straightforwardness. Truly a feat.

She brushed her fingertips across his back, her touch feather light as she settled her hand just beneath his shoulder blade. When had she become so bold? So free and presumptuous? She thought of her conversations with Flavia. Perhaps it was her influence? _Or more likely his._

Her thoughts stilled as he sank into her touch, his back smoothing beneath her caress as if it were a haven from his inner battle. “I’m sorry too, Green Blood,” he finally confided.

They lapsed into an amicable silence. Cassandra found herself marveling at their small exchange; as if a door had suddenly been thrown open, exposing a long hidden room. There would be much to discover in this newfound space.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you find it? THAT sentence? The one that was written and rewritten at least 10 times? No? Good. It means we've done our job well! 
> 
> This chapter was surprisingly difficult to write. There was a lot at play here, both in the story and out of it, that made it such a challenge. But for now, we'll blame Cassandra and her prickliness. Either way, I hope you enjoyed it. Hopefully the next one won't be such a bear.
> 
> Also, fun fact: "Her Excellency" was just a place holder title when I started writing this. I couldn't think of something I really liked (and boy, let me tell you I tried). So, I decided I'll call it this until the writing spirit imparts a better title. Well. Too late. I think we're stuck with this one now 😂


	13. Tener

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you to JovialKoala for proofing this mess. And sticking with me while I struggled to get through this. 
> 
> And thank you, reader, for being patient! I love reading your thoughts and feedback!

Kurt grunted as he adjusted his grip, struggling to find some purchase around de Sardet’s narrow waist. He was disappointed when, yet again, she managed to twist out of his hands. She darted away, the smattering of applause only encouraging her devious grin.

“Come now, Captain,” she taunted, “What happened to the man who could subdue a Green Blood in thirty seconds?”

He lunged, trying to close the gap between them but missing her by a hair’s breadth. “Damned Green Blood,” he muttered caustically. He _swore_ she had been in his reach, and he’d be damned if he let his protege humiliate him so thoroughly.

She danced close, her hair tickling his cheek and the gentle scent of her perfume muddying his thoughts. “Somebody’s getting old,” she murmured in his ear. It was only a jest, but her words still managed to burrow into his chest, exposing an insecurity he thought he had quelled. Compared to her shining vitality, he no doubt did seem old and weathered. Kurt brushed it aside; he could contemplate it later, when he was not attempting to humble his favorite.

“Please, Green Blood,” he retorted, masking his frustrations behind familiar repartees. “These old bones know your tricks too well.”

With a lurch, Kurt finally managed to capture de Sardet. He twisted her arm behind her back, daring her to work her way free. “Not so confident now, hm?” She squirmed but abruptly stopped, brought up short by the sudden pain. And yet, she still wore a satisfied smirk, as if that was _exactly_ the position she wanted to be in.

“You know,” she drawled, a hint of triumph creeping into her voice as she addressed the Nauts watching, “they say the mind is the first thing to go as you age!” The crew hooted in delight, enjoying the show nearly as much as de Sardet did.

She caught Kurt’s eye. The calculated gleam in her gaze reminded him all too much of a snake about to strike. “Green Blood…” he warned, a heartbeat too late. She slammed her foot into his instep.

“Fucking hell!”

He was a well trained mercenary, meant to withstand a great deal of punishment, but even he was human. And de Sardet was, apparently, feeling rather brutal. He had thought they had settled their argument last night.

 _Or not…_ he hastily reconsidered as he felt her body tense in his grip, preparing for another strike. Kurt was forced to loosen his hold or face yet another savage beating. It was the moment de Sardet had been waiting for, and in that small space, she gathered her energy and disappeared into the shadows.

She reappeared a moment later, smugly adjusting her blouse well outside of his reach.

“That’s cheating,” Kurt growled. “We clearly said no magic.”

“ _You_ said no magic,” she retorted, hardly perturbed by his gruffness. “I never agreed to such a thing.”

The vein in his temple pulsed as he clenched his jaw. What had happened to his compliant young student? She wouldn’t have dared to play such a game with him a few years ago. And neither would any of his recruits. Which, perhaps, explained why he found himself exceedingly annoyed. When was the last time he had truly been taken to task?

“Very well,” Kurt returned as he strode across the deck. Cassandra watched him interestedly, but made no move to intercept him. Even the Nauts had fallen silent in their curiosity. He could feel the weight of it, the heaviness of their questions. What would he do next? How would he deal with his audacious Green Blood?

Deliberately he unsheathed his sword, the whisper of steel against leather a song as familiar to him as an old friend. He inspected the blade before turning back to de Sardet. “You have your strengths, and I have mine. It’s only right to use them.”

Cassandra grinned, a wolfish glint in her eye. “I do enjoy a challenge,” she said, falling easily into her stance, “but I believe we’ve done this already. It ended with a knife at your throat, or have you forgotten in your _advanced_ age?” Kurt hefted his long sword as a response. De Sardet tsked. “I suppose I shall need to remind you.”

Kurt hated to admit it, but she had caught him off guard that day. He had expected his old Green Blood. The one who was a timid, albeit passable, swordswoman on a good day. The one who hardly posed a challenge to him. Not the magically capable woman that managed to break his hold and press a blade to his throat. He had learned his lesson. And he would not repeat it.

De Sardet watched him warily, taking their spar seriously for once that afternoon. They both knew it would be a game of cat and mouse. She wanted to stay out his reach, and he needed her within range. It would require careful maneuvering on his part, and a fair bit of strategy. He smirked. He excelled at both.

Kurt slid into a fool’s guard, hoping to lure his protege into an attack. She glared, reading his plan and denying him. He would have to make the first move then. With a startling swiftness, Kurt lunged. He was hardly surprised when de Sardet vanished.

Wasting little time, Kurt moved to a roof guard, ready for de Sardet’s imminent attack. Predictably, she lobbed a ball of squirming shadows at him. It coiled towards him like a ghostly snake, writhing unnaturally as it struck his blade and dissolved. A few tenacious pieces clung desperately to his sword, worming their way towards the pommel before he shook them off. Kurt crushed them beneath his boot for good measure.

Before he could mount his next attack, he was hit in the shoulder by another wriggling shadow ball. Instantly, his arm began to tingle. The more he shrugged, the more the numbness grew. Soon, he would lose all feeling in his arm and he would be paralyzed, much like the first time they had sparred.

Kurt grit his teeth, bitter that there was no clear escape yet determined press on. But then, the numbness stopped. It faded to an unpleasant prickle, like when one lays on their limb for too long, but nothing more. Realization dawned on him; de Sardet had miscalculated the strength of her attack. Or she was tiring from their earlier practice. Regardless, it was an opening.

He held his stance, pretending the spell had worked. His muscles burned with the effort, but Kurt refused to squander this opportunity. He must convince de Sardet her magic held him, otherwise she would dance away and their game would continue. She approached cautiously, reaching for his sword. He waited for the right moment. The seconds crept by, uncaring of his misery.

There! As she approached, her side exposed, Kurt spotted his opening. He swung, hard and fast. Cassandra yelped in surprise, unable to scramble away in time. She hastily cloaked her hands in shadow and blocked the attack. A look of determination settled on her face as she grabbed his blade, her magic coated hands imbuing her grip with a supernatural strength. Kurt tried to wrench the blade from her hands, but she held on tight.

He drew himself to his full height, angling his sword so that he would have the proper leverage. Kurt pushed down. She bent beneath him, her arms quivering. Now it would become a matter of strength, and his Green Blood was at a disadvantage. Any sane person would recognize the situation and yield. And yet, she did not. Cassandra locked her legs, the muscles twitching with the effort. Heat rolled off her in waves as she poured more magic into the effort, and the air began to shimmer around them.

“Stop being pigheaded,” he grunted, pushing down on her again. “Yield.”

“No,” she ground out, pushing back.

“ _Yield._ "

He pressed harder. She would eventually have to admit her defeat; after all, he had taught her when it was time to admit it. Cassandra grunted and, with a heave, managed to regain some ground. She locked eyes with him, the silver of her eyes turning to lead in her determination.

The air thrummed around them as she gathered more power. And then, the sound of a cracking stone broke his concentration. Kurt paused, confused. Had they struck a rock? But the sailors were still gathered about, watching their struggle. In fact, they appeared not to have heard anything at all. He looked to de Sardet.

“Fucking hell, Green Blood!”

A trail of wine dark blood leaked from her nose, stark against the sudden paleness of her face. It dripped down her chin and bloomed crimson on her blouse. Her once sharp eyes had clouded and lost focus. Still, she struggled on, pumping magic into her hands. She swayed slightly, tendrils of her magic flailing. Suddenly, Cassandra collapsed like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

Kurt dropped his sword, sacrificing his oldest ally for his Green Blood. He cradled her close, her head lolling to the side.

“Green Blood?” he asked, trying to keep the panic from his voice. Delicately, he brushed a lock of hair away from her face. The mirth that tugged her lips into her characteristic smirk was absent, her bronzy coloring all but gone. She looked like a faded imitation of herself.

“Cassandra?” His heart thundered in his ears. “Cassandra, please,” he begged. There was no response. _Damn it all to fucking hell_.

Kurt scooped her into his arms, startled by her lightness. “Fetch the doctor!” he barked as he carried her to their cabin.

He pushed into their cramped quarters and ever so gently laid her on the bed. “What the…” Constantin began, startled by the sudden intrusion. The chair creaked and then the boy was at his side. He barely acknowledged him.

“Captain, what happened.”

It was not a question. Constatin’s voice had taken on a dangerous edge, promising retribution. “Captain,” he demanded again when Kurt didn’t answer.

“I don’t know.”

It shamed him to admit it. He was supposed to know; it was his job. She was fine one moment, and the next...well...the next she was like that. Unsettlingly still and pale as death. His shoulders dropped, pulled down by the weight of his guilt. _No,_ he thought, _I_ _do know what happened. It’s my fault_. He was about to say as much when the doctor burst in, saving him from Constantin’s wrath.

The doctor took one look at the both of them. “Get out,” she snapped, waving them away in irritation. Constantin began to argue, but the doctor would have none of it. Fed up, she pointed a scalpel at him. “ _Out._ ” She made a jabbing motion to reiterate her point. Kurt tamped down his own worry and took the boy by the arm. Constantin looked at him sourly, but allowed himself to be pulled from the room.

“I’ll have her head if anything happens to Cass,” he muttered. Kurt remained silent, the guilt returning.

Quietly, he returned to the deck to collect his sword. Constantin followed and took advantage of the open space. He began to pace, glancing at the stairwell from time to time. Kurt picked up his weapon, quickly wiped it, and returned it to its scabbard. Distantly, his years of training admonished him for his lackluster weapons care. Yet, for once, Kurt barely noticed it. The image of an unconscious and bloody de Sardet replayed in his mind’s eye, searing itself into his memory.

He’d seen dead and wounded soldiers before; he’d even seen de Sardet bruised and bloody, gifts he had given her during an especially merciless training. He had been directly responsible for her injuries then, and he had been unbothered, not a hint of guilt to be found. Yet something about this day struck him harshly. He probed the dark recesses of his mind, searching for the difference between then and now.

He’d been doing his duty in both instances. For training, Kurt reasoned, certainly counted amongst his responsibilities. And he’d hardly been as unrelenting today as he had been in their past. The sensation of his unraveling returned, stronger than ever. He rubbed his face, his stubble rasping beneath his calloused fingertips.

“Shit,” he whispered faintly as realization dawned. “Shit,” he repeated, jumping to his feet.

A few Nauts looked at him quizzically, but otherwise ignored his outburst. Constantin continued to pace, unaware his guard captain had had a sudden, important revelation.

“I’ve gone soft,” he muttered.

Kurt pushed his hand through his hair. How could he have not seen this sooner? De Sardet had mocked him about it not but a few months ago, and he had brushed it off. Yet, it appeared to hold some truth. How else could he explain this shift in his feeling, the unusual guilt and worry? And, more importantly, how did he fix it?

  
He was so lost in thought, he had missed the doctor’s entrance to the deck. She cleared her throat, summoning them both. Constantin was upon her like a wolf on its prey, his eyes gleaming viciously. The boy would tear her down before she could share her prognosis if he didn’t control himself.

Smoothly, Kurt slid beside the boy, using his bulk to deter him from any ill conceived notions. Constantin glanced at him in annoyance before snapping, “Well?” The Naut doctor looked at them both nonplussed, which only irritated Constantin further. He lurched, but was stopped short by Kurt’s sudden, vice like grip. His warning clear, Constantin settled, a sullen look on his face.

“I can’t find a thing wrong with her,” the doctor responded. “Her vitals are strong and stable, and the bleeding’s stopped. As far as I can tell, there’s no need for concern. I suspect she just over did it.”

“Over did it?” Constantin growled. “Over _did it?!_ ” He had begun to shriek. “That is the best you can do?!”

The doctor shrugged, still unbothered. Kurt realized she must see quite a lot of this in her line of work. She shifted her attention unmistakably to Kurt as if she were saying _you’re the only level headed person here._

“While I suspect it’s overexertion, you should still monitor her. It’s concerning that she collapsed so suddenly, but I’m afraid that, until she regains consciousness, I won’t be able to diagnose her further. Send for me when she wakes...or if anything changes.”

The doctor nodded brusquely at them both before disappearing into the captain’s cabin. No doubt she would report this incident to Vasco. Sighing, Kurt looked at his charge. “Well,” he said, “you heard the good doctor.” The boy was gone before he could finish his sentence. Kurt decided to wait rather than follow after him. He needed a moment to collect himself, and he was certain Constantin did as well.

When some time had passed, and the sun began to dip below the horizon, he headed below deck to check on his wards. He paused a moment outside their door, steeling himself before he pushed his way into the room. A part of Kurt had expected to be met with Constantin’s notoriously long lived wrath, yet instead he found himself greeted by a surprising calm.

The anger had ebbed from Constantin and, drained of it, he had curled up beside his cousin and fallen asleep. It reminded him of when they were children. Of hazy summer nights when, after being scolded by his nursemaid, Constantin would run to Cassandra’s room to hide beneath the covers with her. They had grown into startlingly different people, and yet, in that space, nothing seemed to have changed between them. He supposed they would always have their bond.

Not wanting to disturb them, Kurt settled into the rickety chair. It wasn’t terribly comfortable, but he’d spent nights in far more uncomfortable situations. And he’d be able to monitor Cassandra without fear of falling asleep. He lit a candle and dragged Constantin’s forgotten book across the table. As he settled in for a long, sleepless night, Kurt hoped the boy had at least brought something interesting to read.

Several chapters and a fresh candle later, Kurt paused to rub his bleary eyes. The ship had fallen quiet hours ago, a fact he had acknowledged distantly as he read about the adventures of the brave knight Roald and his loyal page. He had scoffed at the unrealistic portrait of knights and the deceitful mercenaries who hunted him.

 _A load of horse shit_ , he thought as he turned the page. And yet, he was soon absorbed in the tale. It was vaguely familiar and reminded him of a play he had watched as a boy years ago. But now the fatigue that had hunted him for the past few hours had finally caught up to him. It had been years since he’d manned a night watch, but Kurt knew he’d have to do something -- take a piss, stretch, go for a walk -- if he hoped to remain alert for the rest of the night.

Softly, he shut the book and stood. His muscles nearly wept in relief as he stretched his back, and he bit back the involuntary groan that attempted to escape. As quietly as he could manage, Kurt padded to the edge of the bed to check on his wards.

Constantin had rolled away from his cousin, leaving her adrift amidst the sea of bedding. She still looked so fragile, so defenseless. That unsettling tug around his chest returned accompanied by a swelling desire to protect her -- an inclination that had little to do with his role as bodyguard.

He reached out to her as if in a trance.

Before he could register what had come over him, Kurt found himself lightly brushing hair away from her face. He trailed the sharp curve of her jaw with his knuckles, silently awed by the smoothness of her skin. His thumb tentatively grazed the edge of her lips, oddly flat without the pull of her familiar smirk. She sighed in her sleep and shifted. It carried a hint of hidden longing and it cast a spell over him.

Another murmur, another stirring and she turned into his touch. He felt himself teetering on the edge of a precipice, bewitched by her mysterious magic. Kurt was too enthralled to notice the slow fluttering of her eyelids. Or the flicker of her opening eyes. Yet he felt their inescapable pull, just as the tides felt the moon’s. Carefully, he withdrew his hand and met her gaze.

Cassandra watched him, her gray eyes lucid and bright. For a moment she seemed to be searching for an answer, and then, having found it, she chuckled, the sound like dry pages of a book.

“Hello,” she rasped.

She said it like a vague promise. She said it like a veil had been lifted and she finally saw clearly. Kurt felt a sharp, final tug. And then he tipped headlong into the abyss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. 2021 has been a bit of a rough year so far. Life has been hectic and I had almost zero energy to put towards writing. But I finally did it! Hopefully this chapter doesn't reflect the funk I was experiencing while writing it (although, to be fair, I'm pretty certain Jovie caught most of them). 
> 
> But now, a question for you: How do you (or did you) come up with the name for your de Sardet (or any video game character for that matter)? Was there some inspiration behind it? Just a favorite name? Use your own name? I'm always so curious. 
> 
> In my case, Cassandra wasn't always Cassandra. I went through several iterations (Alix, Alexandria, Helena, Heloïse, others I can't remember). None of them really felt right for my de Sardet, and, interestingly, I never thought of a name for her while playing the game. So, I think I just settled on Heloïse for a hot minute. And then inspiration struck. 
> 
> I was teaching a lesson on the end of the Trojan War (side note, I'm a teacher, I do classics and language and such, but that's neither here nor there) and I was talking about the Trojan priestess and princess Cassandra. I sort of just kept circling around to her and the more I thought about it, the more it felt right. And so, I changed Heloïse to Cassandra and I've never looked back. The real question here is do I plan to rewrite the original Cassandra's fate, or is the name some foreshadowing for Cassandra de Sardet 🙃


End file.
